The Wild Ones
by green and yellow
Summary: "We're the wild ones," he says. "The example, not the exception. They let us live so they could kill us all over again." A pregnant Katniss is going back into the arena... and Cato is going with her.
1. je serai

_Like others, I have developed an unfortunate obsession with Cato. I really mean it when I say it's unfortunate, because somehow it has consumed me, and every spare moment I've had in the last month or so, I've been writing furiously. Which is not a bad thing in itself, but people are starting to get the impression that I don't like them anymore because I always slink off to write. _

_This all started when I saw the film, I guess – I really liked how they portrayed Cato at times, and that heated glare at Katniss after the parade held so much tension, but I also hated how he was portrayed at times – I didn't think the Career pack would have been so buddy-buddy and noisy, and he didn't really come off as insane at all to me. _

_I can't pretend the following story is altogether unique, just from flipping through some of the summaries of Cato/Katniss fics. I'm sure there are several renditions of the same basic ideas. My intention in writing this was more to explore the character of Cato than anything else, so if you choose to read on, keep that in mind._

_This will be a three-part story, and all parts will be_ long_. Just warning you now. Also, there will be some harsh language, though I tried to use it sparingly, and some graphic scenes. More graphic than anything I've ever written, anyway._

_There were three questions I asked myself when sitting down to write: _

_What if Cato didn't mess around after the tracker jackers and just killed Peeta then and there?_

_How would that have changed the Games, and what would have happened if Cato won?_

_What if Katniss really _was_ pregnant entering the Quarter Quell arena?_

_So there you go. Greg Laswell's new album, Landlines, was also inspiration while writing (and you'll notice that the subtitles of each "part" are song titles), as was my favourite book, which you might be able to guess – if you're familiar with it._

_Also, to those reading Knotted: I'm so sorry for the lack of update this week! As you can see, I've been a bit preoccupied. Next Sunday for sure :)_

* * *

The Wild Ones.  
**Part I: No Mercy in Panem  
****(it's settled now)**

Katniss wonders, sometimes, if she may have preferred to live during the Dark Days. For while there was fear and loss in the bitter war, there was also hope in blind uncertainty. There was a spirit of a people that forged on to the death, and those who perished fought for their children's freedom.

They didn't know any better.

There is no place for such optimism, she's quick to discover, as a victor of their Games._ They_, the ones who crushed the rebels during the Dark Days. _They_, the ones who burned an entire district to the ground. She should have realized that victory is worse than death.

Now, it's too late. There is no hope.

The hallway outside of the office of President Coriolanus Snow, ruler supreme of the nation of Panem, is decorated with rich tapestries, marble pillars and a deep crimson rug. It feels regal, stuffy, and bone-chillingly cold to Katniss, who waits on a patterned wingback chair to be called upon. She wears a fitted dress that pinches her at the waist and impossibly high-heeled shoes that cramp her toes together and dig into her heels. Next to her sits her mentor, Haymitch, whose sunken eyes are sick from too many hours without the comforts of the drink.

They wait for what seems like hours without exchanging a single word. The situation is too dire; too hopeless at this point. She has inflicted damage on the dictatorship, and now she must wait to be bent into servitude. It is unspoken knowledge between mentor and tribute. Poor Haymitch. Finally he has a victor, only for her to be deemed a reckless threat to the stone pillars on which the nation is ruled. If there's anything she regrets, it's that he won't get to bring her home to 12. She owes him as much.

Beyond the carved wooden doors leading to Snow's office, there is a sharp _smack! _

Katniss' head snaps up, eyes dilated with alarm. A furious cry rips through the walls, and Katniss feels its anguish reverberating in her bones.

"Hey," Haymitch says from beside her. He leans forward to put a hand on her wrist. "It's not your concern. Don't get nervous now."

"I'm not," she replies stubbornly, though both of them can feel her hands shaking in her lap.

Moments later, the doors down the hall burst open and a boy emerges, tall, blond and murderous. He immediately turns to the exit, followed closely by a murmuring middle-aged man, and Katniss sees that the boy is nursing his own fist, hissing in pain as he strides away. She stiffens as he speaks, certain that he'll turn around and kill her like he meant to do from the very beginning.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" he says to Brutus, his mentor. He curses his fist, shaking it out. "It was just supposed to be me, damnit! It shouldn't have to be this hard."

In a panic, Katniss turns to Haymitch, whose empty stare conveys nothing at all.

"Miss Everdeen," comes a smooth, aged voice from the doors to the office. Snow stands at the entrance, dabbing his lips with a handkerchief. As he inserts the cloth back into his breast pocket, he smiles in a manner that slows the blood in her veins. "The other victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Do come in."

* * *

Sarcastic or even brash words from her former mentor would be helpful to calm her nerves, but Haymitch is sullen and morose in the room. He sits so close to her that she fears they may have brought her here to kill her suddenly.

"Now, Miss Everdeen," Snow says, leaning back in his chair from across the desk. "Before I begin, I thought I should afford you the chance to ask me the question that has been plaguing your mind for two days since your release from the arena."

Twiddling her thumbs in her lap, she asks in a voice wrought by hours of confusion, "Why did two of us come out?"

For in the seventy-three annual Hunger Games before hers, there was only one victor. Twenty-four sent in, one who emerged. Those were the rules, written in the stolen blood of the rebels. There is no mercy in Panem.

Snow nods calmly, having expected her question. "Because, Miss Everdeen, I saw potential in you both. Of course, there are several fallen tributes from over the years who would have made excellent victors, but instead were left to perish. Rules are rules, you know. But this time – call it a stroke of brilliance, if you will – I saw the advantage in making an exception."

A chill zips down her spine. With her chin up, she asks, "And that is?"

Snow holds up his hand to silence her. "Let me explain. What they may not teach you in District 12, where Mr. Abernathy is your sole example—" at this, Snow delivers a pointed glare to Haymitch, "—is that a Hunger Games victor is awarded luxuries and riches beyond your wildest imagination. Gowns made of the finest fabrics, jewels carved from the most sparkling diamonds. A victor is a celebrated figure throughout Panem, but nowhere more than in the Capitol. You're far too modest, Miss Everdeen – even after your victory interview yesterday evening, I doubt that you are aware of your celebrity."

She heard the screaming, yes. Saw the flailing limbs vying for her attention through the blinding lights shining on her from all directions. But she was too focused on_ him_ sitting beside her,_ him_ who claimed just as much fame – though perhaps less right to victory – than she.

"With fame comes scrutiny, yes, but also desire. They desire to know you, Miss Everdeen, to understand you – to be with you."

His last words cause Haymitch to prop up his elbow to support his head, his fist clenched stiffly against his temple. Katniss shivers, wishing she were anywhere else. Even to be back in the arena would be less frightening.

"For the right price, I would offer you to citizens of the Capitol," Snow continues. "A tribute with natural beauty, such as yourself, with that olive skin and those mysterious almond eyes… why, I'd have patrons lining up out the door for a night with you."

She knows she was right to dread this meeting. If all that awaits her as victor is a body bought and sold, she will regret not eating those damn nightlock berries when she had the chance. Inferring the meaning behind his words, she gives a quick glance to Haymitch. He nods grimly.

Snow catches the exchange. With a chilling smile, he adds, "Not to worry, my dear. I have something different in mind for you."

Briefly, her mind rotates through a list of things that could possibly be worse. Imprisoning her mother. Torturing Gale. Killing Prim. That's all.

"You are a special victor – you and Mr. Embry. While I'm not accustomed to denying the citizens of the Capitol, you are the exception. I rather like the mystery in your eyes, Miss Everdeen. I'd rather keep you on display than pawn you to the highest bidder. When they can't have you, they will never lose interest – don't you think? It's like dangling meat on a string in front of a salivating wolf."

She could sigh with relief, but she has a feeling there is something far worse in store for her. Still, she has seen the dyed skin and abnormal surgeries on the people of the Capitol, and never having to be within their grasp is soothing.

"You must understand that I can't simply withhold you," Snow goes on. "There is a precedent in place, of course, and my people will expect you. While you will not belong to the highest bidder for the night, Miss Everdeen, you must belong to someone."

Her shoulders stiffen, her gut clenching in anticipation.

"In my infinite mercy, I will allow you to belong to just one: the other victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games."

_Cato_.

No. No, it can't be. There must be something else. Something else she can give or sacrifice.

It's then, as she's shaking her head in disbelief and raw fear, that her eyes cross a hole in the wall. Its former patch of wall sinks in, the bronze paint chipping around it. It's about as big as a fist.

"Mr. Embry, of course, is already in agreement," Snow adds, as if this will change her mind.

_He hardly looked in agreement back there_, she wants to bite back, recalling the way he'd exited Snow's office in a flurry of rage, cradling his fist as if he'd injured it somehow.

The hole in the wall.

And she recalls the bewilderment written across his face as it was announced, in their deadlock, that two victors would be crowned this year. The only time they ever had – and ever would – agree on anything.

"No," Katniss says, looking to Haymitch for support. He frowns, but his lips are pursed in contemplation. "No," she repeats firmly. "I can't."

Unfazed, Snow replies, "I think you'll change your mind."

"Nothing will change my mind."

Leaning back in his chair, he twirls a pen in his fingers. "Haymitch, perhaps you will be kind enough to enlighten your tribute."

He looks like he'd rather keep his mouth shut, but Haymitch says, his tone inexpressive, "Sweetheart, it's either him alone or hundreds of others."

"I don't care," she says. "Not him. I didn't win so I could_ belong_ to him."

"No," Haymitch agrees, "you won to go back to your family. You fought to live for them. After a fight so gruesome, it would be a shame to let them die for you. Trust me, sweetheart."

With her lips parted in horror, she wonders about all the things she never sought to learn from her mentor. After all, entering the arena she assumed they would never meet again.

Snow smiles gently, pleased with the mentor's advice. "You know, they don't give you enough credit in the Capitol. You're rather clever, Mr. Abernathy."

They'll kill them, Haymitch is suggesting. They'll take Prim and her mother. And then what will she have fought for? What use was surviving?

His icy blue stare burns in her memory…

But then there is plaited blonde hair, an off-white blouse tucked neatly into a skirt, boney, lifeless hands folded on her stomach as she lies limp in a coffin.

_Not Prim_. They will not take Prim.

"What do you want, then?" she asks, her voice dead and faint. "What do I have to do?"

Smug in the wake of her defeat, Snow rests his elbows on the table. "I want a tale of romance," he says. "I want to see it unfold in front of me. Two star-crossed lovers who were never destined to live while the other still drew breath. For only then will Panem understand the mercy and forgiveness of their leader."

She's willing to bet this has nothing to do with mercy. In fact, it will be the slowest, cruellest form of torture, to submit to the monster from District 2 in plain view of the nation. For only then will Panem understand that to defy is to dig your own grave.

Mulling over his own words, Snow twirls his index finger in the air and continues, "Mr. Embry is impatient, violent, and quick to agitate. You, Miss Everdeen, are stubborn, standoffish, and ruled by emotion. I want you to tame each other."

She, an uncivilized Seam animal with embers in her eyes, and he, an aggressive, robotic soldier from 2 who was bred for slaughter.

Not for the first time, Katniss thinks, _It should have been Peeta. It should have been Rue. _Instead, it is her and Cato, two who were placed in the arena to vie for certain death. She remembers his cold glare from the night of the tribute parade. The hunger in his eyes, ravenous with murder, when he began to climb the tree in which she sought refuge. The cry of victory when he thought he finally had her atop that Cornucopia surrounded by growling mutts. The hatred oozing from every pore of his skin just before they took to the stage together as victors.

And now he will have her, just not in the way either of them had expected.

"You've given me a lot to think about these Games, Miss Everdeen," Snow says. Lost in her own horrific thoughts, Katniss hears his voice like it's a whisper in the distance. "I only hope, now that it's over, that I can give the same to you."

* * *

_They come for her on the second day. Her body is light and nimble, and she effortlessly scales a tree and watches them from above. "She'll have to come down sometime," Peeta says. "We'll kill her then."_

_ And with his words, a piece of her heart breaks, for he is all that's left of home and he has just sentenced her to death. They'd spent their last night before the Games on the roof on the Training Center, alike in their despair, and all the while he was plotting against her. Convinced the crowd he was in love with her for sponsorship points, then aligned with the Careers in the arena who were determined to kill her first. _

_ He is a clever boy, and even without brutality, his brainpower may gain him the crown._

_ She toils through the night as the burn medication seeps into and mends the singed, pastry-like skin on her thigh. She watches the pack of Careers sleep below her and curses the boy with the bread, for if she is to die tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, she will never have evened the score. She will die by his hand, indebted. _

_ When tiny Rue, the tree-hopper from 11, whispers to her in the dark and points to a hive above, Katniss is thankful for the knife in her pack. She begins to saw, and when morning breaks, she saws some more. _

_ The hive crashes to the ground and tracker jackers swarm the Careers. The killers rouse from their sleep with screams and race to the lake to avoid the venomous stings. Two don't make it – girls from 1 and 4. With her mind swirling shapes and colours, Katniss hops down from her leafy sanctuary and pries the bow from the hands of a dead, misshapen tribute. _

_ And then he is back – the boy with the bread, his eyes round and pleading. "Get out of here! Run! Katniss, you have to go!" _

_ So she does, vaguely wondering where his loyalties lie. And as she moves as fast as her jellied legs can carry her, she hears a shout of fury. She knows by the deep tone of his voice that it's the tribute from 2 who has returned from the lake, livid that she has escaped and Peeta has helped her._

_ Peeta's cry of agony is the last thing she hears before her mind blanks and her feet carry her wherever they do._

_ She is out for two days, and when she wakes, Rue tells her he has been killed by sword._

_She never intended for him to die. At least, never because of her._

_ Never will she settle her debt, for he has saved her twice and died doing so. Perhaps he did love her after all._

_ The boy with the cold blue stare has stolen his life. She will steal his, or she will die trying._

* * *

Never one for pomp and circumstance, Katniss finds that the life of a victor does not appeal to her at all. If it weren't for Prim, she doubts she'd bother with any of it – her mandatory attendance at all celebrations, banquets, elite galas and ceremonies. She would much prefer a quiet life where she can slip into the woods unnoticed to hunt. Despite the fact that she no longer needs to do so to provide for her family, it's become more of a hobby than a necessity, and she takes comfort in its routine.

But it's weeks after the Games and her return to District 12 before she can sneak into the woods. She's certain Gale has forgotten about her by then. He is as annoyed with the hubbub surrounding her victory as she is, especially because he has since been dubbed her "cousin". That little nugget of information was revealed to her when she stepped off the train into the district in front of the cameras. When he was interviewed during her time in the arena, he was proclaimed her cousin for the similarities in their appearance – dark hair, olive skin. The look of the Seam. The idea of a tribute having a handsome "friend" back home is rejected by production crews, she discovers, as it dampens the tribute's desirability should they become a victor.

And now, of course, Gale must remain her "cousin", for she has reluctantly agreed to belong to someone else.

Not that she ever would have belonged to Gale, or had even given it much thought until now. She can't imagine ever wanting to belong to anyone. She simply wants to be in control of her own fate.

Gale does find her, that Sunday in the woods. She's so relieved that she nearly cries, which embarrasses her to no end. They exchange stories of the folks in town and make idle chatter as they hunt, fish, and gather just as they've always done. But they do not talk about the mines, where Gale spends twelve hours of every day. And they do not talk about the Games, for Katniss is determined never to speak of them again.

But he does have one burning question for her, which he prefaces with an apology.

"Why did they let two of you come out?"

Looking off into the distance, where he once suggested they make for the hills and run, she replies, "I don't know."

But she does know. She knows perfectly well, she just can't say it aloud. Especially not to him.

He kisses her before they part that day, soft and slow and sweet. His fingers are rough on her cheeks as her stomach flutters nervously. She moves her lips in response but isn't sure if she's doing it right – no one has ever kissed her before.

Everyone in the Seam probably assumed they would get married someday, knowing how much time they spent together. Gale might still think so, and she can't bear to break it to him that everything has changed.

She never fantasized much about her first kiss, but she certainly never thought she'd cry afterwards, when he was long gone. When his lips were on hers, though she tried to focus, all she could see were those ruthless blue eyes boring into her.

* * *

There's nothing to do when you have everything, and Katniss finds her life sinking into a dull routine. She takes over the daily snare run in the woods and is always sure to drop off her game with Hazelle, Gale's mother, first and foremost – but she rarely sees Gale himself, whose only free day is Sunday. Often on those spare days, he joins her in the woods to hunt, but their chatter is never serious anymore, and though she sometimes fights the urge to throw herself in his arms, she maintains a cool distance. As the Sundays wear on, she senses his escalating frustrations. They used to know everything about one another, and now she can't admit to him what keeps her awake at night, nor what wakes her with a yelp when she's already sleeping. Thoughts of Cato plague her conscious mind, and the horrors of the arena visit her while she's sleeping.

She wonders what he's doing now, over in District 2. She wonders if he ever thinks of her, too – probably, alongside how much he wants to kill her. It's clear that Cato never intended to share his victory with anyone.

And she wonders, on a day when she arrives home after hunting in the woods and visiting Haymitch, if President Snow has come to visit Cato, too, and given him that same cruel, snakelike smile.

"I have a problem, Miss Everdeen," he says to her once they've both been seated. "A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena."

She pauses, flashing back to picking the berries in the arena and making the decision to end it all. Even then, she knew there would be sacrifices in being a victor. And with Rue gone and Peeta, sweet Peeta… it was all too much.

But before those berries touched her lips, Claudius Templesmith announced a feast and she was stupid enough to hesitate.

"If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have let you kill yourself. Tributes have done it before, as I'm sure you know – the weak ones. But unfortunately for Mr. Crane, he had a sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?"

She nods with a gulp, knowing without words that he has been executed.

"He wanted a victor out of you," Snow continues. "He saw the way the Capitol reacted when your district partner died for you, when you cried over the body of the little twelve-year-old."

_Her name was Rue_, Katniss wants to spit. But her mouth is suddenly dry; she couldn't speak if she wanted to.

"You made it clear that you were playing for your sister, and the Capitol loves a heartwarming story, even in the Games. What Mr. Crane did not consider was the simultaneous impact you were having on the districts. He didn't realize it until far too late, when you had Mr. Embry on top of that Cornucopia at the bitter end. It wasn't plausible, then, to knock you off your feet with a gust of wind or to blind you with acid rain to give Mr. Embry the upper hand. Your death would have turned you into a martyr, and we couldn't have that. But it also wasn't possible to allow you the triumph of winning, because that would send across an unfortunate message to the nation that defiance is acceptable."

Frowning, she links her fingers in her lap. She doesn't doubt that the president is being absolutely candid with her, and it is gravely unsettling.

"So you see, now, why there had to be two victors," Snow finishes, "and why I found myself with no other choice than to make the arrangement, already discussed, between yourself and Mr. Embry."

"That, I'm not sure I understand," she manages to say, wetting her lips.

The corners of his full lips curl in the most unpleasant of ways. "It's quite simple, Miss Everdeen. I want Panem to see the change in you, beginning on your upcoming Victory Tour and ending with the Quarter Quell later this year. I want them to see you go from defiant, rebellious Seam rat to refined, lovesick schoolgirl who would do anything for the one she loves."

Katniss stiffens, instilled with anger that he would dare call her such a thing.

"And it can't be just anyone you give yourself to," he goes on. "It can't be that cousin of yours – what's his name? Gale, I believe."

Her eyes narrow.

Snow delights in her immediate reaction. "I see you know who I'm speaking of. Yes, he's quite handsome, but he won't do. No, your beloved must be a victor, one who has killed. When Panem sees your love story unfolding, they'll realize that even the most stubborn has changed her ways; that it's not worth igniting when you're beside the one you love. I want them to realize that if it weren't for the Games, you never would have found each other. It wasn't cruelty that landed you both in the arena, but destiny."

"But I don't love him," Katniss points out.

"Convince me," Snow says with an evil twinkle in his eye. "I've given you all the ingredients. How hard can it be? The way the nation will see it, you've been developing a friendship all this time apart through phone calls and letters. Your reunion on the Victory Tour will spark your romance – that's an awful lot of time to be travelling together, you know. When the baby comes, I doubt anyone will be surprised at all."

Katniss snaps to attention, her voice squeaking as she repeats, "Baby?"

Snow taps his fingers impatiently on the desk in front of him. "Oh yes, Miss Everdeen, did I forget to mention that? By the end of the Victory Tour, I expect you to be carrying Mr. Embry's child." Before she can protest, he adds, "I am a merciful leader, wouldn't you say? One who allows life to flourish amongst such bitter death."

Katniss can only shake her head in bewilderment. She can't do it. She can't. She's only seventeen. She never wanted a baby. She never even wanted to get married, even if it was to Gale.

_Gale._

President Snow seems to be thinking the same thing. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Everdeen, there are a number of things you haven't been particularly adept at hiding. I know about the kiss, you know – and your cousin, I could easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution."

A shiver races through her as panic sets in. Of course he would know about the kiss in the woods. Of course her refusal to cooperate will endanger those she loves. What would Gale's family do without him? Rory and Vick and Posy… they couldn't manage it. They'd all starve. And he'd never forgive her. Never forgive her for her carelessness. And that would be another debt to go unpaid. Another life lost because of her. He kept her family safe and fed while she was in the Games – now that she's out, she owes it to Gale to do the same for his.

"Please don't hurt Gale," she whispers. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now."

"I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Cato, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," Snow replies.

"I'll be in love with him," she says, her voice pleading now. "I will."

"I should hope so. If the uprisings are to be averted, this Victory Tour will be your only chance to turn things around."

Snow rises from his chair, prepared to shake her hand and depart.

"Wait," Katniss says, hopping to her feet alongside him. "The child."

"What about it, Miss Everdeen?"

"Will I get to keep it?"

"Of course. What's yours is yours."

"And what about the Games? When it's of age, will it be reaped?"

Gale always figured that victors' children were reaped far too often for it to be coincidence. The child of _two _victors would have a target on its back from the moment of conception.

Feigning a sympathetic smile, Snow responds, "I wouldn't worry about that for now."

He takes a few steps in the direction of the door, but she blocks his exit, and she can see he's displeased that once again, she's displayed her defiance.

But she needs to know.

"I'll _always_ worry about it," she says fiercely.

Snow ponders his words for a moment as Katniss breathes in the stench of roses. The flowers on his lapel can't possibly give off such a strong scent – it has to be added perfume.

"To be honest, Miss Everdeen," he finally says, sidestepping her to leave the study, "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

* * *

_He's in perfect range after she blows up their mountain of supplies at the Cornucopia, but she can do nothing but stare in bewilderment as the ringing in her ear will not go away. Even the whistling of the wind is muffled as she watches him give a sickening twist to the neck of the boy from 3 who was supposed to be guarding the supplies. _

_ He is erratic, impulsive, and teetering on the edge of sanity. He knows it was her, and his hunt will only become more animalistic, more intense. She is his prey, and he has never been hungrier._

_ She could kill him now, from her hiding place. She could, but she doesn't, because his blind fury is terrifying and pitiful and intriguing all at once. _

_ She wants him to look her in the eyes as she lets the arrow fly. Before he sucks in one last breath, she wants him to know what he's stolen from her._

* * *

Her prep team bursts back into her life with almost frightening excitement. They do what they please with her and she barely cares, mostly because her infrequent requests are always refused. _No_, she can't wear her hair braided off to the side_. No_, her eyebrows cannot go un-plucked. _No_, she will not be bringing those ridiculously unflattering hunting boots and jacket along on the Victory Tour.

By the time the prep team is finished with her, she feels overwhelmed with stress over trivial things, like the strands of hair framing her face and the dryness of her skin in the winter weather. She's annoyed with herself for being concerned with such vapid silliness, but it hangs in the back of her mind like a looming shadow that Cato will be seeing her soon. And while she convinces herself that she could hardly care for his opinion, the thought of him being disgusted with her – a common "Seam rat" – is enough for her to want to call the whole thing off.

She can't go through with this.

But then Cinna arrives, her stylist from the Capitol, and he's sympathetic and calm and _real_. He'll be with her throughout the Victory Tour, and that will make it bearable. Not bearable – just one notch above absolutely excruciating.

Even with Cinna showing her some designs he's come up with and adjusting her in the winter outfit that will kick off the Victory Tour, she finds she grows increasingly nervous by the minute. By the time he helps her with her beautiful ermine coat and earmuffs to brave the frosty weather, her hands are trembling with indecision.

"You're going to be fine," Cinna tells her in a low voice. He always looks straight into her eyes when they speak, and it's one of the reasons she trusts him so instinctively. "You're beautiful. You're smart. You're brave."

She nods fervently, wondering now if there's anything she could have said to President Snow to change his mind. If there's anything she could have sacrificed that would have released her from this vile servitude.

She can't do it. She won't.

Her mind is absolutely made up for all of thirty seconds until she sees Prim being interviewed by a crew in the kitchen, dressed in a beautiful sky blue dress and white boots that remind Katniss of a little bird hopping around in the trees – just like Rue.

And then she remembers. There is no way she can renege on the deal with Snow. Because Rue and Peeta have already given up their lives, and Katniss will not allow anyone else to do so for her.

"For good luck."

Her mother's voice breaks her from her trance and she looks down to see her pinning the token mockingjay to her red scarf. With an appreciative smile, she pats the pin down.

Effie Trinket, the district escort, is beyond thrilled to be on a Victory Tour – she probably never expected to be in such a position, being assigned to District 12 and all. She's clapping her hands to get everyone's attention and reminding the crews that in just a moment's time, the two victors will reunite.

Katniss isn't ready. She'll never be ready.

Effie knows it, too, and pushes her out the front door.

She stumbles onto the stoop and then down the steps, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the day. When she's no longer blind, the first thing she lays eyes on is the second camera crew who are waiting outdoors for her appearance. The peacefulness of the empty Victor's Village. A fresh, white blanket of snow on the ground.

And then, Cato. He stands on his own with the crew behind him, hands in his pockets. His brown jacket is unzipped despite the bitter cold, a plaid scarf hanging loosely around his neck. His icy blue eyes match the weather, and they're just as startling as she remembers. Otherwise, he looks older. Taller. Leaner. Her stomach makes a weird flip that leaves her reeling.

_Convince me_, Snow said to her. So for Prim – for Rue, for Peeta, for Gale – she knows she must.

Despite every fibre in her being telling her not to, her lips curve into a smile as she moves toward him. With only a flickering of curiosity in his eyes, he steps forward as well, and then it's like they're in one of those cheesy television shows over which the Capitol audience obsesses.

Katniss fights the urge to roll her eyes.

His embrace is warm as she steps into it, wrapping her arms around his waist and shutting her eyes to magnify the serenity of the moment. This is supposed to be a reunion, after all. If Snow wants this love story exacted properly, she's going to have to make everyone believe that she and Cato have been in contact this whole time, growing closer even with the distance between them.

She is wildly on edge in his arms, her heart beating overtime, certain that at any moment, he'll pull out a dagger and finish what they started in the arena. If he responds half-heartedly or even with disgust, everything is blown. It is not she, Katniss realizes, but _Cato_ who holds the lives of her loved ones in his hands. From the moment Snow threatened them, he had Katniss wrapped around his finger. She'd do whatever she needed to do to keep them from harm. But Cato… he is wild and unpredictable. He is the one who could so easily throw them all to the wolves.

He might, still.

Even though his arms are stiff and unwelcoming, she knows that he is acting, too, and she wonders what kind of deal he's made with Snow. It's clear that he didn't ask for this, either. And why would he? She tried to kill him. He tried to kill her.

That's more of a horror story than a romance.

* * *

It's customary for the Victory Tour to kick off in District 12, the smallest and poorest district. Then it's off to the rest of the districts in descending order, with the victor's district being the last stop on the tour before the Capitol, where the largest and most elaborate celebration is held. This time around, as there are two victors from different districts, they'll begin in District 11 and visit all in descending order before returning to District 12 and then crossing the country again to make an appearance in District 2. Then, the Capitol. It seems like an unnecessarily elongated process to Katniss, who would be just as happy to get her own district's celebration over with right now, but the Hunger Games is not just for the Capitol's entertainment, but also for the districts' punishment, and things must be done in a certain way.

There's a crowd waiting for them at the train station, and Katniss wonders if these people truly care or if they were paid to attend. With camera crews all around – it will take a while to get used to that – she bids goodbye to her family. She gives her mother a kiss on the cheek and hugs Prim tightly to her chest, telling her to be good and to remember to pack bigger lunches to take to school to share with Rory and Vick, Gale's younger brothers. Annoyed at being reminded, Prim rolls her eyes and assures her she will.

When she straightens, she finds Cato standing only a few yards away, intently surveying the familial exchange. She's uncomfortable to know that he has witnessed something so private to her, but keeps her expression light and airy. She crosses the platform to take his outstretched hand, and together, they wave to the crowd.

Just before they step onto the train, she sees a dark-haired figure covered in soot racing toward the station. She pauses, and Cato feels the yank on his hand and looks back. Gale is supposed to be in the mines today – what is he doing here? It's clear that's where he's come from, given the state of his appearance. Still, he's a welcome sight, and her heart soars. She waits, forgetting that Cato waits with her, until Gale attempts to climb onto the platform and is barricaded by a wall of Peacekeepers.

_No!_ she wants to shout. _Let him come up!_

But as he gives her a helpless, apologetic glance, she also sees his gaze zone onto her hand, intertwined with Cato's, and in an instant, Gale's eyes darken.

Then she remembers. She and Cato, they're supposed to be falling in love.

With Gale's cutting stare and Cato's frozen glowering, she feels trapped in between two walls. There's a tug on her hand. Amongst the commotion of the crowd, she looks into Cato's questioning eyes as he gives an almost imperceptible cock of his head in the direction of the train.

_Enough of this_, his eyes seem to say.

With one last glance at Gale, she finds herself giving a tight-lipped smile before disappearing with the other victor onto the train.

* * *

Their first meal on the train is nothing short of extravagant, and everything is so delicious that it physically pains Katniss not to take second helpings. She can only imagine Effie's insurmountable horror if she gorged herself in front of not only her own team, but Cato's, too. She'd get an earful for sure. The mental picture brings a faint smile to her face, and she dabs her lips with a napkin to hide her expression.

Cato sits across from her at the table, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of meat. Unashamed, his eyes bore into her as he chews, clearly recognizing her smile and apparently annoyed by it.

Brutus, Cato's mentor, and Haymitch each occupy one end of the table, and Katniss is grateful for it – they talk across to one another and prevent the meal from being deadly silent. Brutus is a broad, muscled, ferocious man who appears to thrive on the gory deaths of mere children in an arena, and Katniss shudders at the thought of ever being alone in a room with him.

Then again, she's not particularly thrilled by the idea of being alone with Cato, either – especially not with his stare so unflinchingly focused on her.

She's also thankful for Cinna, who purposely took a seat beside her at the table and who, every so often, attempts to incorporate her in his quiet conversation with Nerissa, Cato's stylist, whose freakishly pale peachy skin is surrounded by an eerie halo in the low lighting.

Even the district escorts – Effie Trinket for 12 and Raynor Woolley for 2 – are subdued, though Katniss suspects that Effie is making a large effort to contain herself for Katniss' sake. Once they're in the public eye in some of the wealthier districts, Katniss is certain that Effie will be beside herself with enthusiasm.

Afterwards, Katniss is relieved when Cato retires to his room and Brutus and Haymitch travel a few cars down in order to relax with a bottle of brandy. When the prep teams are gone and Katniss is changed into a pair of the lightest, silkiest pajamas she has ever worn, she sits with Cinna, and he holds her hands in his as she explains to him what Snow said to her earlier that day.

"Damnit," he curses to himself, lowering his head. "You're only seventeen."

"I have to do this," she whispers. "I have to, otherwise everyone I love is dead."

"You do this, and there's nowhere to go from here. You're his, Katniss – not Cato's, _Snow's_. He'll have you, and your baby, too. This is something you can't ever take back."

"I know," she says, on the verge of tears. "I wish I didn't love anyone. I wish I was alone."

With a comforting hand, Cinna smoothes down her hair. Looking straight into her eyes, he replies calmly, "But you aren't."

Sniffling, she nods. "So this is how it has to be."

* * *

_Rue's death unhinges her, just as the exploded food supplies unhinged the boy from 2. She targets the boy from 1 as soon as the spear flies from his hand, and she's certain her arrow has found his neck before the spear finds Rue._

_ Nonetheless, it finds her eventually._

_ And she was so like Prim, so innocent and young and _good_, that Katniss weeps in the grass and decorates Rue's body in flowers. She removes a roll from her pack – a sponsor gift from Haymitch – and sacrifices her next meal to leave it sitting beside the girl amongst more blooms. Her tribute to Peeta, the boy with the bread._

_ It is not the boy from 2 who has stolen Peeta from her, nor the boy from 1 who has stolen Rue. _

_ It is _them_. The Capitol. For a human life is not nearly as valuable as the message it sends after it has been taken._

_ She can't hate him, the boy whose eyes are a frozen blue. They stole something from him, too, and the rage in his eyes proves that he knows it._

_ She knows she must stay strong for Prim, but it's the first time she thinks that perhaps they're all better off dead._

* * *

As the agricultural district, District 11 is a sprawling mass of land. Its enormity is baffling to Katniss, who has known only the Seam and the forest all her life. It takes hours after crossing the border to reach the core of the district, whereas Katniss knows that crossing District 12 would take very little time by train, hovercraft or even car. Despite its proximity to District 12, there are no forests in District 11 – only fields and more fields of yellow, green or beige. Working far out in those exposed fields in the heat of the summer sun seems a daunting task, and she thinks of little Rue, whose short life was lived amongst fields of wheat.

Or perhaps it was lived in the orchards in the distance, where she would have learned to scale the trees to pick the fruit.

"Oh, Katniss!" Effie exclaims as she finds her staring out the window in the dining car. "What are you still doing here? You should be dressed! Up, up, up!"

Katniss would be perfectly happy to spend the day watching those rolling fields pass by, but Effie shoos her up and to her bedroom, where Cinna and her prep team are waiting with beautifying tools and outfits. To complete her autumn harvest ensemble – an orange frock and gold headband – Cinna affixes the mockingjay pin to her dress. He says nothing about it, but from the twinkle in his eye, she senses that her token from home may become a staple for all of her Victory Tour outfits.

As they pull into the station behind the Justice Building, Effie goes over their program for the day – stand outside the Justice Building overlooking the population, listen to the mayor's speech in their honour, and thank the citizens with their Capitol-approved reply. Prim and her mother drilled her lines into her memory, and as she steps into the loading car, Cato's automatic mutterings to his mentor confirm that Brutus has done the same for him.

"Best to stick to the script," Haymitch offers to both of them before they exit. To Katniss, he says, "And smile, sweetheart. None of those sour scowls in front of the cameras."

She glares at him, a flush creeping up her neck. It's not like she cares, but Haymitch could have chosen a more convenient time to say such a thing – like when she wasn't inches away from her rival in the arena.

Brutus pats Cato on the back to send him off, and as the two of them step off the train, he says, "And remember – you're supposed to be in love."

With a scowl of his own, Cato grabs her hand and links their fingers. His touch is harsh and cold, and as they cross the Justice Building to reach the veranda overlooking the population, she shudders. She can barely touch him without cringing – how can they act in love in front of thousands and then perform an unspeakable act together on the train? Her heart rate accelerates, and she's sure it's not only due to public speaking and facing Rue's and Thresh's families.

Before she can prepare herself with a deep breath, they're ushered onto the veranda where the population is waiting. It's harvest season, and Katniss saw many farmers in straw hats in the fields while she was on the train, so this can't be the entirety of District 11 – still, she's certain that even this small sampling is thousands bigger than the whole of District 12.

They're introduced to the crowd to a round of applause, and as Katniss looks into the crowd, she sees eyes staring back at her that are wide, curious, and hungry.

Surveying the platforms below that house Rue's and Thresh's families is the hardest of all. Katniss doesn't even listen to the mayor's speech – instead, she's focused on the five little siblings who all resemble Rue in one way or another. She left them with one less mouth to feed and no one to look up to.

Two little girls present them with beautiful bouquets of flowers. Presents they certainly don't deserve. Katniss thanks each of them individually.

On her left, Cato's hand tenses in hers. When she gives him a glance, he's staring into the crowd and purposely avoiding looking down. It's in her to smirk – it serves him right, for hunting and murdering Thresh. But then she thinks of the boy and girl she killed from 1 and every other death she had a hand in, and the smirk isn't there anymore. She's as much of a killer as Cato, and she does not look forward to meeting the families she's stolen from.

He snaps out of it when it's time for him to speak. He delivers his portion of the speech flawlessly, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her close as he speaks to begin their great act of deceiving the nation that they are in love.

When it's time for her to add the closing remarks, she begins as rehearsed. But then, somewhere along the way, it all seems to slip away. The lines that have been running over and over in her head for weeks are lost; her mind blank. She could offer a simple thank-you in closing and no one in the district would know it was an error, but one look at the platforms below and she's compelled to do something else. To offer some solace to these two broken families.

"I want to give my personal thanks to the tributes of District 11," she says. With a steadying breath, she continues, "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time." Cato's hand stiffens in hers, but she goes on. "Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. His refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. Right, Cato?"

He's not happy with her, that much is clear, but he nods.

"I respected him for that," Katniss says.

Thresh's small family – a decrepit, hunched-over woman and a young girl – nod in appreciation. The elderly woman seems to have a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Katniss turns to Rue's family. She tells them how she grew close with their daughter in the arena and how they kept each other alive. She tells them how beautiful things bring Rue to her mind, but nothing more so than her sister, Prim.

"Thank you for your children," she finishes. "And thank you all for the bread."

From within the crowd, someone whistles a familiar tune. It only has four notes, but Katniss recognizes it instantly – it's Rue's song; the one she shared with Katniss to be their communication as they carried out the plan to blow up the Careers' supplies. She catches the eye of the whistler, and in that moment, she knows that she has done something very, very wrong.

In unison, the people of District 11 bring three fingers to their lips and extend them to Katniss. The same gesture she gave to them after receiving the bread. The startling impact fills her with dread. This is not quashing a rebellion; it is inspiring one.

With unsettled eyes, the mayor interrupts the mass display with some closing remarks. And then, with applause, the victors are ushered off the veranda.

She's forgetting something. Her flowers. Where are they? Whether she deserves them or not, they are a token from Rue's district, and she won't leave without them. Cato looks over his shoulder as she disconnects their hands and heads back to the veranda, but he doesn't follow her.

And she's glad he doesn't. For when she slips onto the outlook to grab her bouquet, she sees that the whistler has been hauled to stage by peacekeepers. In front of the entire crowd, they shoot him in the back of the head.

Bang. Dead. Just like that.

Whatever she inspires, the Capitol will crush.

* * *

She knows, from the sympathetic looks Effie has been doling her all evening and the uncharacteristically warm tones in Haymitch's voice, that tonight it begins. It horrifies her that everyone seems aware of what is about to happen, albeit in varying degrees. Her prep team fluttered around her before the feast that evening, commenting on how she must look desirable for Cato. Their oblivion to her thoughts, feelings and reactions is actually comforting, for it proves that she's doing a decent enough job so far establishing her love for Cato onstage.

At the feast in District 10, Cato had held her hand and given her smiles and leaned over every so often to whisper in her ear, signs of a budding romance that drove the crowd wild.

But all he had whispered were various observations about people attending the celebration and, sometimes, instructions on how to react. "_When I finish speaking, laugh_," he said to her once. And she obeyed.

Now, she finds herself alone in her room after a kiss on the cheek from Cinna and a squeeze on the shoulder from Haymitch, both gravely reminding her that she is brave.

She doesn't want to have to be brave. She wants to be smart – to find a way out of this.

But it's too late. He's already knocking at her door.

"It's open," she says, and as she stares out the window at District 10 whizzing by, she hears him wordlessly step inside and close the door behind him.

She turns, grateful to see that he's still wearing the same outfit – dress pants and a nice shirt – that he wore to the feast. His prep team hasn't insisted on finding a new outfit for the special occasion. Or maybe they tried, and he simply refused, just as she had done when Venia and Flavius suggested spritzing her with lilac perfume and dressing her in lacy undergarments.

It's horrifying to think that they're all going to be on the same train as the deed takes place. For all she knows, there could be a crowd listening in just outside her door.

Oh, sweet mercy.

Cato walks to the center of the room and stops there, his eyes a brilliant blue even in the dark. He waits, watching her calmly with an air of cockiness, like she is the one with everything to fear, not him.

He's right about that.

"Well?" he asks after a prolonged silence. He shrugs, gesturing to the bed. "Can we…?"

Between fear, anxiety, and hopelessness, annoyance is what prevails. Is that it, then? By the end of the night, she'll be pregnant with his child, and that's all he has to say? Until now, she'd assumed that he was simply keeping his mouth shut so as not to give away the story of their whirlwind romance, but now she wonders if he just has no interest in speaking to her at all. If they'll pass by this entire Victory Tour in silence, even as he visits her bed.

It's clear that he wants nothing to do with her. He's acting out of obligation, just as she is. What could Snow have offered him that would persuade him to agree to this? Or is he protecting something, same as her?

She grits her teeth at his airy manner. "I know why I'm doing this," she says, rooted to her spot at a safe distance from him. "But why are you?"

When he gulps, she watches his Adam's apple move down his throat and then bob back up. He begins to remove his tie, saying in a clipped tone, "That's my business."

So that's how it will be, then. Fine. They won't speak. It's probably for the best.

Still, she stays at the window, watching with caution as he tosses his tie on a chair, followed quickly by his shirt. She sucks in a breath, noting the definition of his hip bones, the muscles in his stomach and his broad, hairless chest. The thick biceps are not something to be ignored, either. Not for the first time – but certainly for the first time up-close – she is reminded of just how big he is. Not only because he is from a wealthier district and likely never went hungry a day in his life, but also because he trained for the Games for years. Without her bow, she is absolutely helpless next to him, and suddenly she is overcome with trepidation and paralyzing fear. He can do anything to her in here. They're completely alone and she's without a weapon. Whatever he wants will be his.

The only time she can ever remember quivering is in the final few moments before the 74th Hunger Games in which she stood alone with Cinna in the Launch Room. This is nothing compared to the jitters in her hands now.

With an impatient sigh, he finally says, "Come here, Fire Girl."

She ignores the mocking nickname and does as he says, only because she's afraid of the consequences if she refuses.

When she stands in front of him, her eyes only at level with his lips, he motions for her to turn around. She twirls, gasping as she feels his hands come in contact with the skin on her back. He unzips her dress without a word but does not force it off her. It seems he's not going to do all the work himself.

The lump in her throat is the size of a skipping stone as she steps out of her gown, back still turned to him. She hears the clinking of the metal on his belt buckle and, when she draws up the courage to face him again, she realizes he has removed his pants.

They stand staring at each other in their underwear, illuminated only by the moonlight, and while she keeps her eyes trained to his blond hair – almost like Peeta's in its cut and colour – he lets his gaze wander all over her until she feels completely violated and defenceless.

He points to the bed, raising his eyebrows expectantly. It actually doesn't seem like such a bad idea to her, so she moves there willingly, eager to hide herself under the blankets.

And as he crawls underneath the covers with her, she can't help but think that is the boy who tried to kill her. Who still would, if he had the chance. The one who killed Peeta. Who snapped the neck of the boy from 3. Who counted his kill with pride after the Bloodbath. This is the one who had the tendency to explode with rage.

"Stop shaking," he tells her, void of sympathy.

"I can't," she snaps. Does he think she is chattering willingly?

With an irritated scoff, he places a hand on her hip and turns her around again so that he can unhook her bra. She is the one who lets it slip off her shoulders, but before she can face him again, she covers her chest with her arm.

He rolls his eyes at her modesty. "Really?" he asks unkindly, though he does not yank her arm away.

He does away with his last article of clothing and Katniss realizes that, to remove the final barrier between them, she'll either need to awkwardly squirm around or remove the arm that covers her chest.

It would be so much easier if he weren't watching her so keenly.

Finally, she musters the courage to get it over with, pushing away thoughts of Cato and Brutus having a good laugh over this later as he relays all the details without a censor.

She, for one, will never speak of this again. Not to Haymitch, not to Cinna, not to anyone in the world. Snow himself cannot make her repeat in words what is about to be done.

And then, completely bare under the covers, she lays her head back on a pillow and stares straight at the ceiling, her breaths shallow and a hot flush setting her cheeks on fire. From the corner of her eye she senses his gaze on her, travelling from her forehead, to her lips, to the exposed mounds on her chest.

She might prefer to be back in the arena right now, if given the choice. How cowardly she was, not to eat those nightlock berries when she had the chance!

There's a shift under the covers, and his hand reaches across her torso to run from her ribcage over her hip, down her thigh to the back of her knee.

"You're skinny," he murmurs.

With her eyes fixated on the ceiling, she replies without expression, "You're not."

"No," he agrees, running his hand back up and laying his palm flat across her stomach, as if he's measuring her. She doesn't move, unable to breathe. Maybe they're both thinking the same thing: _after tonight, a baby will be in there_.

If Cato is thinking it, too, he doesn't say a word. Instead, he shifts closer to her and moves his hand in between her legs.

Startled, she breaks out of her frozen shell, clamping her legs together and gripping his wrist to pull it away. He seems just as surprised by her reaction as she is by his forwardness.

"Is that necessary?" she asks.

With his hand suspended in the air by her grip on his wrist, he can only release a ghost of a laugh. "Uh, it is if you want to be able to sit down tomorrow," he says. When she frowns, he adds with a smirk, "Trust me. You're not my first virgin."

She glowers at him, furious that he's aware she's never done this before. Her calculated movements and trembling fingers have made it painstakingly obvious, but she's angry all the same that he would even mention it.

With a fiery stare but not another word, she releases her grip on his wrist and he moves his hand underneath the sheets again. Within seconds, it's where it was before. Her legs clamp instinctively.

"Stop."

"Relax," he replies. "I'm helping."

"Why should I believe you?"

He places a hand on her bent knee and urges her to open her legs, but she will do no such thing. "If you would just let me—"

"Just get it over with."

She's so hot and bothered by this situation and his cavalier responses that she's certain her cheeks really _will _catch fire. What makes it worse is the amused gleam in his eyes. Maybe Snow didn't have to persuade him with anything at all – Cato simply relished the idea of watching her cringe beneath him.

But that can't be it. Because she vividly remembers sitting outside Snow's office just days after being pulled from the arena, and she remembers the hole in the wall and Cato cradling his fist. Those weren't signs of voluntary relent.

"You're not ready," he argues.

"Yes, I am."

She's testing his patience now; he's biting back a furious comment. Why would he put up with her stubbornness, she wonders, when he could so easily dominate her?

With an exasperated sigh, he growls, "You really don't know anything about this, do you? What do they teach you in 12?"

_Survival_, she wants to bite back. _And this isn't a part of it._

"I know enough," is her reply. "Just put it in me."

There's a moment of silence before he barks with laughter. "You're funny," he chuckles.

Shame is what heats her, she convinces herself, not his burning touch. She turns her head on the pillow, her chin touching her bare shoulder as she looks up at him with smouldering eyes. She spits, "You should be dead."

This puts an effective end to his humour. With a burst of rage, he rolls on top of her and pins her down, and though she struggles, she can't break free. As she stares straight into his blue orbs, she realizes she's not shaking anymore – she's only angry. Filled with hatred for the one who took so much from her and who now mocks her as she writhes beneath him.

"No, Fire Girl, _you _should," he counters, holding her arms in place. She burns at the sensation of skin on skin under the covers. "But instead, here we are. So why don't you shut that pain in the ass mouth of yours and let me do you a favour."

This time, trapped underneath him, she knows she's no match for his muscular arms and broad shoulders. Glaring all the while, she spreads her legs when he nudges her to do so.

"Arrogant bastard," she mutters under her breath, though she feels him hardening on her lower abdomen and weakens as the fear claims her again.

Ignoring her insult, he moves his hand between her legs and commands her to stop squirming. With another smirk, he explores her with his fingers and says, "They're right to call you the Girl on Fire."

Before she can spit at him, he captures her lips with his own, effectively silencing her. She shuts her eyes, nipping on his lower lip with her teeth to continue their heated argument. Much to her surprise, he seems to enjoy this, deepening their kiss.

It's only the second time she's done this, and she can't help but think she's doing it wrong. Cato doesn't seem to mind, roughly claiming her lips and exploring her with his tongue. Though she has the bare minimum of experience, she can't help but remark to herself that he's so different from Gale. He is so much rougher, more demanding, more confident, and yet he maintains a quieter sort of command. He begins to rub circles in between her legs and she feels the heat from her cheeks spread slowly to her belly. After a minute of this, she must break their connection to gasp, too vulnerable now to look him in the eyes. She turns her head away from him, biting her lip and hoping to muffle any sounds she might make by whispering into the pillow.

Cato continues his ministrations. She resists the urge to tell him to go faster, to press down harder. From the way her body begins to respond beneath him, he seems to know. She's unsure how much time passes as she lies there with her face pressed into a pillow, willing it all to be over but hoping she'll feel like this forever at the same time.

She's grateful that he doesn't speak again, because she no longer has the brainpower to form a retort. Still, she wishes he would have given her some warning before giving up on his toe-curling manual stimulation and plunging inside of her.

It's the initial thrust that knocks the wind out of her chest, sending her eyes flying open before she shuts them in pain, squeezing them tightly to keep in the tears. One slips out despite her best efforts, dripping slowly down her cheek.

"Sorry," he mutters, his tone unsympathetic as he moves slowly out and then back in.

The pain is blinding at first, and when she's able to find her breath again, she hisses, "You jackass."

"I said I'm sorry," he repeats in irritation. He pauses overtop her, allowing her a moment to adjust to his size.

Furiously, she wipes the tear from her cheek, using every last bit of resolve she has to deliver him one more heated glare. "It shouldn't have been you."

Despite her fury aimed at him, his expression softens. As he steadies himself above her, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Shut your eyes," he instructs her, gasping at the exertion it takes to hold himself still within her. "Imagine it's him, then. Your cousin."

The way the word rolls off his lips – _cousin_ – makes her realize that it is not just Snow, but Cato who sees past her amicable relationship with Gale. But when he begins to move again, even though it goes from searing pain to just uncomfortable soreness, she senses that she no longer has the strength to openly hate him. All she can do is take his suggestion. Shut her eyes and pretend it is someone else who owns her this way.

Gale. He doesn't feel like Gale. They're both rough around the edges and quick to anger – Cato more so than Gale – but Gale tasted like salt and it's spice that now lingers on her taste buds. There are always words for Gale, but she can think of none to say now, none she would be able to say if it were him instead of Cato. There's a calmness she feels when with Gale that she does not feel now. He wouldn't make her panic this way. He wouldn't keep going, knowing he had hurt her, even if it would start to feel interesting and almost _good_, like it does now… or would he? His head drops to her neck as he moves against her, grunting with the strength it requires to keep himself controlled. Would Gale do the same? Or would he kiss her through the pain? The thought of being naked next to Gale is horrifying – even more so, somehow, than with Cato. Probably because she has known everything about Gale for years, and aside from his dire need for anger management and his ruthless lust for blood, she knows absolutely nothing about Cato.

As he picks up the pace, Katniss has to bite her lip from crying out, and she chomps down so hard she's afraid she may have drawn blood. When his mouth finds her breast, her lips part with the new sensation, her breaths coming in short bursts. After a grunt, he grips underneath her thigh and lifts it, reaching even deeper inside her now. The heat between them sizzles on her skin and in her core, but it doesn't burn. She fists the bed sheets in her hands and can't even bother to be embarrassed about the moan that escapes from the back of her throat.

She realizes it's almost over when his movements become sloppier, less sharp. His breath hits her neck in erratic bursts and then, as suddenly as it began, he stiffens on top of her and mutters something against the skin on her shoulder. Spent, she sags on the bed and waits for him to roll off of her, which he does after just a moment of lingering.

She pulls the sheets up around her, self-conscious once again as her breathing regulates and her heartbeat steadies in her chest. Only a few more moments pass until he sits up, runs a hand through his hair and sighs, giving her one last glance which she does not return.

"Not bad, Fire Girl," he says as he stands, pulling up his underwear with him. With a light chuckle, he adds, "But I've had better."

If she had her bow with her, she'd kill him for that. She wonders why he does it; rub salt into the wound when she's already given him everything she has left to own. She liked it better – or, more accurately, hated it less – when they weren't speaking to one another.

As she lies there and stares blankly into space, he retrieves his clothing from the chair and heads toward the door without another word. She hears the doorknob turn. Then it turns again. Then he's jiggling it, turning it back and forth until he slams his palm on the wood in frustration.

"Bastards," he mutters.

She props herself up on an elbow, using her other hand to hold the sheet over her chest. "What?" she asks.

He bangs on the door again, this time with his fist. "They locked us in."

Katniss falls back on the bed. She should have seen this coming. Of course Snow would arrange for locks on the outside of the doors. For it wasn't enough that she should have to give herself to her would-be killer – Snow would want her to have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of the night as well, beside the boy – _man_ – who has just stripped her of everything.

She hates him. She hates him a thousand times more than she hates Cato, who seems to think it's appropriate to drop his clothes and climb back into bed beside her.

Rigid, she can only stare questioningly at him, willing him to take up residence on the chair or loveseat or even the floor.

He rolls his eyes at her reaction. "I'm not gonna touch you, Katniss," he assures her, though his words are less than comforting.

She reaches for her discarded bra and underwear to dress herself under the covers. "A man with chivalry would sleep on the chair," she snaps.

With a snort, he deadpans, "I didn't know they concerned themselves with chivalry back in 12."

Fuming, she clasps her bra and tugs a section of the blankets away from him to cover herself. "We're a lot more civilized than you seem to think."

"And much poorer judges of character," he adds. "Did you paint me as chivalrous before or after I killed your boyfriend in the arena?"

_Lover Boy_, the Careers had called Peeta. Lover Boy, for proclaiming his secret crush on Katniss on national television the night of the interviews. She still doesn't know if he was telling the truth. She never will.

But she knows she hates Cato for mentioning him at a time like this, and he reads her hatred all over her face. With another roll of his eyes, he turns his back to her and lies on his side, facing the window.

Seething, she burns holes into his skin with her stare, but after a while there's no satisfaction even in that. She turns on her side as well, staring at the definition in his back, the muscles that ripple underneath the unblemished skin after years and years of training to kill. In the moonlight, she holds up her own arm and remarks on the difference of their skin colour – she the dark olive of the Seam; he the golden tones of a Western district. She, a wispy, hungry hunter; he, a strong, broad fighter. In any match against her, he'd go in as the favourite – and yet, she could have killed him in there. She would have, too.

But she didn't. And now he lies next to her for the choice she made.

"Cato?" she asks quietly, certain he's asleep.

She's surprised when he replies, "What?"

Though his back is to her, she can picture his icy blue eyes so clearly in her mind, inquisitive and harsh all at once. "Did you imagine I was someone else?"

He shifts under the covers but keeps his back to her, turning his face toward the pillow. "No," he mutters gruffly. After a pause, he adds, "I didn't need to."

* * *

_She'd always thought she was better off alone, but she realizes she never knew the true meaning of it until now, cowering in that cave. She hunted with Gale, attended school with Madge, slept next to Prim. She doesn't say much, and with a mind so protected and serene, perhaps she thought it was equal to loneliness. But loneliness – true, physical and mental loneliness – is draining in the bleakest of ways. After a couple of days she wonders if she's gone mad and if it will always be like this now, even if, by some twist of fate, she makes it home to 12. She wonders if she will simply slip through life lost in a nightmarish daze, where crooked fingers stretch toward her not to comfort, but to choke._

_ She finds the berries. Recognizable in an instant to any hunter. Nightlock._

_ "It's better this way, Prim," she says aloud, cupping the berries in her hands. "I wouldn't come back the same. I wouldn't be your Katniss anymore."_

_ She begins to cry, her hands shaking as she stares down at the navy berries in her hands. "I'm sorry," she whispers through tears. Raising her chin to the sky so she knows she is heard, she says, "I love you, Prim." _

_ The berries have only just touched her lips when the voice of Claudius Templesmith bursts into the arena. _

_ "Good evening, tributes," he says. "Here in the Capitol, we like to think of ourselves as generous hosts. As our guests, we are inviting you to a feast."_

_ She doesn't care. _Just do it_, she pleads with herself, staring longingly at the berries._

_ "Now, hold on," he continues quickly, as if he knows that he only has a split second to convince her, "before you decline, consider what will be waiting for you. Something you desperately need. Medicine, perhaps. Food. Or… and perhaps most importantly… a message from a loved one. Yes, that's right. For the first time, a loved one will be permitted to reach out into the arena. For some of you, it will be your last chance to connect with them."_

_ She raises her chin as his words slowly sink in, and she has never hated anything so much as she hates the Capitol. _

* * *

They will not be allowed a repeat of District 11, so they are given speeches to memorize instead. She thought it would get easier, having passed the hurdle of facing Rue's family, but it never does. Because in each district, there are two families who lost someone so that she could live. She and Cato.

He ignores her, for the most part, and even though she burns with shame every time she thinks of what they've done together and what he's seen and felt of her, she'd rather he leave her alone than dish out snide, arrogant comments. He's chummy with Brutus, but only when his mentor isn't staggering around with a bottle of scotch. It takes a week or so, but Katniss finally determines that it's not Brutus' moods that affect Cato's willingness to spend time with him, but his involvement with Haymitch. When Brutus and Haymitch are together, Cato drops out of the conversation almost entirely. She begins to suspect that he hates Haymitch, and she can't figure out why. Haymitch is protective of her, though there's nothing much he can do about Snow's arrangement. She can't remember any sort of confrontation between Haymitch and Cato, unless it was had in private, and when she asks, Haymitch says he doesn't think he's ever spoken to the boy one-on-one.

Other than that, Cato spends a decent amount of time alone. After his buddy-buddy alliance with the rest of the Careers in the arena, she suspected that he enjoyed being in groups, for it allowed his competitive nature to thrive. She's surprised to discover that he finds peace in loneliness, just like her.

But he doesn't like being cooped up on the train, and that much is obvious to everyone aboard. Sometimes he paces through the cars, complaining of nothing to do and nowhere to go. When they stop in a district for a night or more, he's always quick to find a gym or training center where he can release his energy. And every so often, Katniss spies him staring out the windows of the train, watching the sights fly by with longing.

She'd be happier outside of the train, too. It's been days since she's had a bow in her hands and delivered a fresh kill to the Hob.

Their cool distance from one another is only witnessed by those aboard the train, and while Effie and Raynor are always encouraging them to spend time together, everyone else seems to understand that when the train pulls up to a platform and they step outside, they'll be more in love than they were in the previous district.

Having never been in love or having any romantic experiences with the opposite sex whatsoever, it's fascinating to Katniss the way Cato takes charge and seems to know what to do. He's a flawless actor, always finding new ways to publicly display his affection for her. One day, they hold hands. The next, he keeps a steady hand on the small of her back. He exits the train first and lifts her down from the steps, his hands locked on her waist. He places a hand on her knee when they're made to watch a parade or a show put on by a district, and she finds that no matter where they are, no matter what there is to see, his eyes are always on her. Even when they're on the train and no one is expecting them to act in love, she feels his gaze burning into her, unwaveringly focused. It might just be habit, having to pretend to be fascinated with her in public. But she senses there's more to it than that, and it irks her that he probably knows three times as much about her as she knows of him. _Know thine enemy_.

They don't spend another night together and aren't asked to. She assumes she's pregnant because she has done what was required to be so. Panem might figure it out right away, after watching her decline glass after glass of wine and champagne at the victor festivities, but Cato refuses as well, which is confusing to her. Perhaps he hopes to deflect the attention from her so that they can surprise everyone later – but she has a feeling that Panem's knowledge of her pregnancy is not his main concern.

The train makes it to District 6, and Katniss and Cato go without speaking or touching unless in front of cameras – and even then, his touch feels cold and his words have an edge – until she bleeds. Her eyes fill with tears when she realizes her monthly flow has arrived, for she knows this wouldn't be likely to happen if she were pregnant. She's horrified by the prospect of being locked again in a room with Cato. Having to lay bare and exposed below him all over again. To let him touch her wherever he pleases, for his lips to be on her skin. Once was enough. She doesn't know if she can bear it twice.

Her prep team is the first to know, of course. They go straight to Cinna, who informs Effie, and within hours, the entire train is aware of her failure to conceive. To spare her the embarrassment, Effie assures her that she'll be the one to break it to Cato.

And so she does – by waltzing straight over to where he sits in the lounge area and informing him within eyeshot of Katniss.

She could kill Effie Trinket, and would if the Capitol woman wasn't so completely oblivious, but instead she simply sits there and feels her face heat with shame and humiliation as Cato's eyes find hers over Effie's shoulder.

With a gust of courage, she hardens her gaze and stares unfalteringly at his handsome face. She can't see anger there, per se – she can't make out what she sees, really. His face is masked with neutrality. Boredom, even.

Arrogant ass.

He won't have the best of her.

* * *

By the time they reach District 4, it's been a week since the news of Katniss' barren uterus has spread like wildfire throughout the train. She no longer bleeds and knows she won't be able to put off a night with Cato for much longer.

"It doesn't always happen the first time," Effie says in an attempt to soothe her. With her infinite wisdom, she continues airily, "Some couples try every night – multiple times – for months."

Katniss is wide-eyed and disgusted after that nugget of information.

"I know, sweetheart," Haymitch says to her when she nearly bursts into tears in front of him. He's not the comforting type, but he puts his arms around her and pats her head. "But soon, it will be over."

_Not soon enough_, she thinks. And then, for the rest of her life, she'll have a child to care for.

The tension in District 4 was palpable that day as the citizens stared on at the victors who made their own rules for the Games and got away with it. The barely-concealed rage terrified her – this was what Snow had spoken of. The unsettlement in the districts. The impending uprisings, all because of her defiance.

It's not enough to act lovey-dovey with Cato. Snow's right: they need a baby to convince the nation. This baby is, quite literally, the lynchpin of peace.

So when Cato raps on her door after a long night of mingling with the elites, she beckons him inside, and it goes unspoken between them that this time, they must succeed. Whatever he has riding on her pregnancy is just as important to him as Prim and Gale are to her.

But that doesn't mean they'll work as a team.

They undress themselves quietly, each shedding an article of clothing at a time and waiting for the other to match or surpass them. Cato, whom she assumes has done this a million times, stands his ground without even a flinch – in fact, he seems to enjoy the challenge. Katniss, on the other hand, has to bite the inside of her cheek in order to muster up the courage to be so exposed and under the scrutiny of such unreadable blue eyes. But she refuses to surrender, despite her burning cheeks.

In the middle of the mattress, they meet, and he hesitates, gauging her reaction before reaching out and touching her. He certainly isn't gentle as he lays her down and claims her breast with his hot mouth, but he isn't exactly rough – just commanding. She'd never say it aloud, but she's grateful for it. It gives her something to fight against, and without his control, she'd be flooded with embarrassment, unsure of what to do next or how to go about it.

But once it begins – once she feels him grow stiff against her thigh and senses her own body responding with a slickness between her legs, she becomes defiant in a different sort of way – the way that doesn't care for matching him, but instead wants to prove how little he affects her.

Because he killed Peeta. He killed the boy from 3. Thresh and Foxface and all the feeble ones in the Bloodbath, dead by his merciless hands. And he never looked back; she's sure of it. That in itself is despicable.

She turns her head, squeezing shut her eyes. It's hard to focus on anything as her body reacts traitorously to her emotions, arching with pleasure, but at least she can refuse to meet his eyes as he claims her as his for the second time.

"You know I could get anyone," he murmurs against her neck, and she fights the urge to slap him and his arrogance across the cheek. "Why should I have to put up with your indifference?"

She grunts as he slips a finger inside her. "I don't know," she says, sucking in a breath. "Why do you?"

She's genuinely interested in his response, but if he answers, his voice is muffled by her cry of surprise as he enters her. He doesn't waste time letting her adjust this time around despite the pain that surges in her lower half. At first, it's like a wound freshly reopened, but when a minute passes, it can only be described as mildly uncomfortable. After a while, her body has become stimulated enough so that he can slide easily in and out, and then it becomes hard to gather breaths because every thrust hits her in the right place; even better than the one before.

And she hates herself for it – hates her body for betraying her, for responding so eagerly, even to his unyielding control. How he holds himself together, she'll never know, and she's almost grateful when he grinds against her, hard and swift, collapsing against her and cursing to himself.

He tries the door again, but just like last time, they're locked in. She clothes herself in her undergarments and a pair of pajamas that she's hidden underneath the pillow and curls up in the corner of the bed, leaving ample room for him as she knows he'll just climb back in anyway. He does, but not before grabbing something from the pocket of his pants on the floor. He rolls one in his hand and inserts it in his ear while she watches with intrigue.

"What's that?" she asks before she can stop herself.

Without glancing over, he replies, "Earplugs."

"Why?"

"So I can sleep." He's in no mood to elaborate.

If only to annoy him, she points out, "You didn't wear them last time."

"I didn't know I'd be stuck in here last time," he replies in a sing-song tone, and she knows she's testing his patience again.

"Did you not sleep?"

Maybe she'd had a nightmare. A violent one. She cringes at the notion of him lying beside her as her worst memories of the arena were brought back to life in her mind. He would hear every word. Know her darkest secrets; her biggest fears.

He pauses before inserting the second earplug. With a scoff, he says, "Next to my enemy from the arena? No."

She's on her side and curled into a ball, the sheets wrapped around her form, and she studies him with curiosity as he settles in on the opposite side of the bed. "What can I do in here?" she asks. "You're bigger than me."

"And you got an eleven in training," he reminds her. "Don't think I forgot about that, Fire Girl. Don't think for one second that I've forgotten that you're a threat."

Of course it upsets him, that she beat him in training scores. He'd made that clear even before the Games began.

For a second, she considers telling him how she did it. How she was branded with the highest score out of the pool of tributes by shooting an arrow at a smoked pig.

But she holds herself back. He doesn't deserve to know.

"Then why wear the earplugs, if you need to be on alert?"

"Because everyone has to sleep sometime," he says under his breath, "and I figure, even if my mind tries to trick me at night, we're in this together until we've done what he expects us to do."

* * *

Katniss thinks it's over, but he visits her again the next night in District 3. They don't speak at all this time, and when she's jarred awake by a violent nightmare of the gamemakers extracting Peeta's eyes after his death to insert them into a mutt, he doesn't hear her through his earplugs. She curls into a ball in the corner of the mattress, shaking with fear as she stares at his back. As soon as her teeth stop chattering, she hears him muttering faintly to himself, soft whispery breaths, and she's sure from what she can make out that he's dreaming of twisting the neck of the boy from 3, whose family he had to face earlier that day. When he stirs, she nearly jumps out of her skin. Her sharp movement on the mattress must wake him, for she sees his muscles tense, hears a gasp as he's brought back to consciousness, and then she must close her eyes and pretend to be sleeping as he rolls onto his back.

In District 1, it's more her nightmare than his, as she was the one who shot Marvel with an arrow and the one who cut down the nest of tracker jackers that killed Glimmer. Glimmer was an only child, she discovers, and her parents are left without legacy – and Marvel, she learns, has two older brothers, one who won the Games himself, and they tower over her with rippling muscles and stony glares. She's glad, that day, for her love story with Cato, because he never strays from her side and only lets go of her hand to sign an autograph or two. At least Cato has a lot to lose by killing her. She feels oddly safe – and even oddly guarded – in his presence.

When he comes to her that night, she doesn't want to talk about it, and so they perform their duties in silence once again. She's not sore from it anymore, and though he finds satisfaction in surprising her, there is no more pain. Afterwards, he doesn't even bother to check if the door is locked – they both know it is – and instead rolls over, back to her, and pulls his earplugs from the drawer in the nightstand where he now keeps them. She has one of the worst nightmares that night – a succession of them, actually – and when she's able to break free from hell, she opens her eyes to Cato on his back, watching her silently. His chest is bare and exposed – in her writhing and thrashing, she's stolen and twisted all the sheets. Sweats of terror cause stray strands of hair to mat against her forehead, and she lays there panting, eyes wide and full of fear, humiliated that he's witnessed it all. She is the one to turn her back on him this time, though she shakes uncontrollably not from the cold, but with the idea that he can sneak up on her at any time.

The train back to District 12 takes two days, and cooped up on that train without the immediate fear of facing the families of the ones they've killed, both grow restless and seemingly annoyed with one another. When they're locked in the room again, they growl and bite, releasing their energy unto each other. He takes her against the wall that night, pushing her even further than oblivion, and with his hands gripping her thighs and suspending her against the hard wall, the only thing to muffle her screams is his own lips.

And still, tests the next day with Effie by her side confirm she is not yet carrying a child.

* * *

_What crafty, cunning torture, to dangle last words from her beloved sister in a Cornucopia of death. Through the bushes, she spies the parcel with her district number sitting in the mouth of the metal horn. All the other remaining tributes – both from 2, Foxface from 5, Thresh from 11 – are certainly not stupid enough to be lured into such an obvious trap. No doubt they are watching for her now, spears and knives at the ready. _

_ She tiptoes out into the open. _

_ She doesn't get very far before the red-headed tribute leaps out of the Cornucopia, grabs her parcel, and sprints across the meadow to safety. Katniss watches in amazement, wondering why she couldn't have been so clever as to hide there. But then, moving quickly through the forest after the fox-faced girl is the boy from 2, sword in hand._

_ His back is turned. This is her chance._

_ Otherwise so cautious, she takes it and runs._

* * *

After the increasingly lavish celebrations provided by the richer districts, Katniss is almost embarrassed by the modest feast thrown by her home district during the Harvest Festival. But then she reminds herself that she has nothing to be ashamed of – why should she and Cato be celebrated for murdering twenty-two other kids? She knows District 12 is simply too poor to afford more of a television-worthy event, but she convinces herself that it's their own way of standing behind her defiance.

She could swear that Cato doesn't mind, either, that the festivities are not prolonged and drawn out. They dine at the mayor's house with Mayor Undersee himself and other important figures, and when nothing exciting happens for the cameras, the mayor toasts them and they're asked to kiss. They've certainly been playing up the romance angle until now, but never have they kissed for the cameras.

She can't dispute the logic – if, someday soon, she needs to announce that she is pregnant, they might as well all have the idea that she and Cato are head over heels in love. But somehow it seems cruel, asking them to break it to the nation at her home.

Katniss feels herself flush at the mayor's suggestion, and Cato raises his eyebrows at her. For the cameras, she gives him a shrug and a coy smile, and that's all the encouragement he needs to lean over and kiss her. He doesn't control her this time; rather, it's a gentle, intimate sort of kiss, with his hand cupping her cheek to hide her blush. She expects it to be quick and simple, but he lingers on her lips for show, and even though only the blandest foods are eaten in District 12, there is still a hint of spice on his tongue.

And then they break apart to an applauding crowd, and Katniss blushes furiously despite every fibre in her body willing her to keep calm. Cato puts an arm around her and laughs at her reaction, and she's reminded that he's a far better actor than her.

* * *

She escapes when she can to say hello to Madge, the warm, soft-spoken mayor's daughter who gifted her the mockingjay pin before the Games. Her bedroom is on the second floor of the house, and Katniss passes guest rooms as she strides along the hallway. A television is on in the study, and with no one around, Katniss sticks her head in to turn it off.

UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8, the screen reads. She frowns as she approaches, wondering what kind of television program this could be. All of a sudden, the screen flashes to a scene of a crowd – a mob, really – screaming and shouting and throwing bricks and setting things on fire.

Her eyes widen on instinct. Could this be real? District 8 – she remembers visiting it just weeks ago, and the ashen, unsatisfied faces of its citizens haunt her now. Is this an uprising? Has it begun?

There's a shuffling down the hall. Madge. Quick as lightning, Katniss turns off the television and scampers out of the room, her heart racing.

* * *

Her mother and Prim are permitted to visit her, and she gives them a tour of the train and delights in their amazement. Prim is especially thrilled with the giant television in the center of the lounge car, and because he's sitting there already, Cato shows her how to use the remote to flip the channels and to see into other compartments of the train and the world outside. He's polite with her mother, though neither of them pry into the other's thoughts or motives, because there is a general understanding amongst them that none of this is real. Her mother doesn't know that Snow came to visit her before the Victory Tour, that she's forced to have Cato's child, and that she wakes every night in a cold sweat, but she has enough sense to garner that there is cool distance between her daughter and Cato – that, given the choice, they would never speak to each other, never acknowledge that the other one exists.

Drunk as a skunk, Haymitch bids them goodbye and promises he'll take good care of Katniss as he sloshes around the contents of a bottle of whiskey. Cato is the first to apologize for Katniss' mentor, even before Katniss herself can do so, and she catches him sneering at Haymitch as they leave the compartment. He escorts them to the door of the train, shakes her mother's hand and tugs playfully on Prim's braid, saying it was nice to meet them. He leaves Katniss alone to say her own goodbyes, which she does quickly to avoid sentimentalities. Even if the Victory Tour is almost over, the thought of being away from Prim and under the watchful eyes of Snow is enough to choke her up.

Cato is still in the same spot she left him when she re-enters the train, and she wonders if he was watching her exchange with her family from the window. She doesn't particularly care – not really, until he asks, "Where's your dad?"

She freezes. It might be the first question he's ever asked her about her personal life, and she shouldn't have to answer it, especially not since he's so unwilling to tell her anything about himself.

Not that she asks.

Still, she looks him in the eye and answers blankly, "He's dead."

She assumed he knew, though she's not sure why. How could he know? He must know scarcely more about her than she does of him, and that's almost nothing. It's strange, she thinks, that from watching them on television and seeing the interviews of their families when they were in the Games, all of Panem probably knows more details about their personal lives than they do of each other's. Unless he's re-watched the Games on his own. She hasn't. She never will.

"Oh," he says, unapologetic but gentle. "How?"

She gulps. "A mine explosion." Not knowing why, she feels compelled to add, "When I was twelve."

"Oh," he says again. It would be awkward if it was anyone else, but Cato is nothing if not sure of himself. "Your mom took care of you two?"

Annoyance boils in her chest. He has no idea the hardships she's been through. No idea what her life has been like. She could never explain it to him, either, because no one who grew up with two parents and a full belly in 2 would ever understand.

"Actually, I did," she replies. "My mother lost her way for a while."

_She's still lost_, Katniss thinks to herself.

"How did you do it?"

"I hunted."

"Ah," he says, and his lips curve into a half-smile. "Of course. Illegal, isn't it?"

With narrowed eyes, she replies curtly, "You do what you need to survive."

He nods slowly, his magnetic eyes never wavering from hers. With thoughtful quietness, he says, "I know you do… Fire Girl."

And then there's nothing left to do but stare at each other, make sense of one another, and hang in a fragile balance between contempt and uneasy tolerance.

He's the first to break their stare, looking to the window again. Unsurprised, he points outside and remarks, "You have another visitor."

A visitor? Who would be visiting now, as the train's engines are beginning to spit?

As soon as she looks out the window, she sees Gale racing toward the train, sooty from the mines just as he was before. He hops the platform and she races to the door to meet him.

"It'll just be a second," she says, as if she owes any sort of explanation to Cato. Unperturbed, he nods and turns on his feet to leave the car.

She slips silently out, closing the door behind her and sticking out her arm to inform Gale, yards away, that she is here. He'd been frantically searching the windows of the train about four compartments down, and sighs with relief at the sight of her before jogging over.

"You didn't have to come," she says as he approaches.

"I wanted to," he replies breathlessly. "I had to see you."

He's close – too close – and, looking down at her with a smudge of dirt across his cheek, he cups her elbows in his hands.

"Why?" asks Katniss, craning her neck to meet his gaze. Cato is tall, but Gale must have at least two inches on him.

"Because," he says, frowning, "I had to know if it's true."

"What?"

"You and him, that… _monster_ from 2. The hand-holding, the kisses on the cheek… that's not you, Catnip."

It kills her to know that he's been following the Victory Tour on television; that he's seen her acting with Cato and wondered how it could be.

The engines get louder, and she grips his forearms, saying, "I can't explain it all right now."

"I just need to know if it's real."

At a loss for words, she shakes her head. "I can't… there's too much; it's not as simple as that."

She tries to let him go, but he has a firm grip on her. "Katniss," he says, and she knows he intends her to take him seriously by his use of her real name, "are you okay?"

Taken aback by his question, her smoky eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head again, furiously squeezing her eyes shut in an effort to contain herself.

"You're just doing this for them," he says over the noise of the train as it revs up. "When you come home, you're done. And I'll be waiting for you."

_I won't be done!_ she wants to scream. _It will never be over!_

He leans down to kiss her then, but she sees it coming and turns her head, pushing him away. She can't – not again, not when she must belong to someone else. She can't hurt Gale – or herself – this way.

But rejection hurts him, too, and she feels dreadful as he releases his grip on her elbows and takes a step back.

"You still wish he was dead," Gale says, and she can barely hear him now over the train. "I know you. I see it every time you look at him. And whatever you're still doing here… you don't have to. We can fight it, Catnip."

_I'm here for_ you, she calls out in her mind.

But there's no fight left in her. Pushing him away took all the strength she had in reserve.

With a shake of her head and a sob that bursts from her before she can suppress it, she boards the train without another glance. Covering her mouth with her hand, she watches him from the window as the train speeds away, running a hand through his hair and hanging his head.

She wipes furiously at her eyes while she stalks through the cars, ignoring a concerned Effie, a drunken Haymitch, and especially a straight-faced Cato. She shuts herself in her bedroom and spends the next several minutes breathing in and out as she stares out the window, willing herself to calm down. It wasn't fair of Gale to see her off. It wasn't fair for him to say those things. And it isn't fair that she'll never get to know what it's like to be with him; that he'll hate her when she comes home with her announcement of pregnancy.

There's a muffled argument taking place outside of her room, and from the sounds of it, it's an insistent Brutus, a furious Cato and a man-in-the-middle, Effie Trinket. She can't make out their exact words as she watches the world fly by, but she gathers that Brutus is trying to coax Cato, who would rather be anywhere else in the world, inside her room, and Effie is mediating while doing some coaxing of her own. They're all under strict orders from the Capitol to produce a baby from her, it seems, and she burns with anger and humiliation.

Cato is indignant too, and she hopes he's won when their voices fade to another compartment. She cries only for a minute or two, and then she commands herself to stop, changing into pajamas and brushing her teeth. She soaks a cloth in warm water, wrings it out and holds it to her face, breathing in and out to calm herself with the soothing heat.

When she exits the bathroom, Cato is there – he must have snuck in when she had the tap running. He sits on the narrow loveseat along the wall facing the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees. He doesn't look up as she emerges, doesn't even give her a passing glance as she steps around him. She thought he'd won; she'd have a night alone. How foolish of her to be so naive. She feels the tears returning and wishes she had spent just one more minute with that warm cloth pressed to her face.

Eyes fixated on her knees, she waits for him sitting next to the nightstand, her hands on either side of her gripping the edge of the bed. It's difficult to decide whether or not she regrets pushing Gale away minutes ago. On one hand, it would make everything so much harder, so much more unbearable. On the other, she'd have a lover's kiss to dream about instead of Cato's roughness. She can't even remember what Gale tastes like anymore or what his hands felt like on her skin – their kiss was so long ago. If he were to kiss her again, she imagines it would feel like the kiss she shared with Cato at the feast earlier that day. Tender and warm.

Cato stands and makes his way across the room. She tenses involuntarily, her eyes trained elsewhere, for if she looks into those cold blue eyes – so different from Gale's hazy grey – she knows she'll fall to pieces.

He stops in front of her, and she feels her heart speed up as he leans over.

"Cato…" she trails off, not sure what she means to say.

"I know," he says, his voice deep and thick. Confused, she lifts her head and meets eyes that are icy, but not entirely unkind. He leans across her and opens the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out his earplugs. He holds them out as if to prove that's all he meant to retrieve.

"Know what?" asks Katniss, her voice uneven.

He stands straight. "I wouldn't have come, but they made me." Holding out his earplugs to her as if to prove that's all he meant to retrieve, he takes a step back. "I'll take the couch."

She watches him retreat, pulling an extra blanket from the closet for himself. Fully dressed, he sits on the loveseat again, which must be just over half his length. It will be an uncomfortable night for him, and she almost offers to share the bed. Almost.

Katniss turns out the light and crawls to the corner of the bed – even though it's hers, she's accustomed to sharing it with Cato, and to her, there will always be a boundary line down the middle. From across the room, she can't hear his breathing, so she'll have no way of knowing when he's fast asleep. It's actually more disconcerting to have him so far away. She likes him where she can see him and know exactly what he's doing. In their current positions, he has a clear view of her, but she sees nothing of him.

Maybe he likes it that way.

Or maybe, forgetting his better judgment, he's simply showing compassion.

* * *

_She's not surprised that Clove from 2 was waiting for her. She's not even surprised that the girl is vindictive, planning to take her time in killing her to ensure it's slow and painful – a show for the folks in the Capitol._

_ What does surprise her is Thresh who saves her, cracking Clove's skull and saying, "Just this once, 12. For Rue." _

_ And then he runs off with his pack and she is left there with the nearly-lifeless Clove, whose parcel still sits untouched in the Cornucopia._

_ As she flees, she hears the boy from 2. His cry of anguish resonates in the arena as he realizes he arrived too late. Clove can't be saved. _

_ From high above nature's floor in a treetop, she watches him mourn his district partner as her life slowly slips away, and when she's gone, he shuts her eyes with his fingers and screams with rage. With wide, fearful eyes, she watches him tear up the parcel meant for District 2, throwing it into the Cornucopia in defiance. _

_ Maybe he's psychotic, she thinks, or maybe he's strong enough to choose not to be mocked and tortured by the ones he may never see again._

_ All she knows, as she sits in the tree and carefully opens her parcel, is that everyone – except, perhaps, the vicious one from 2 – has someone to go home to._

* * *

The train will arrive in District 2 in the middle of the second night. Katniss is finished feeling sorry for herself by then and opens the door for Cato on his second round of knocking. It's she who is the rough, eager one this time, pushing him around and taking control – and what's surprising is that he lets her. Perhaps he, just as well as she, knows that they only have a few more nights. And neither of them wants to think of what might happen if they cannot produce a child.

She rolls off him and they both struggle to catch their breath.

"I'm not taking the couch again," he says between pants. "It's hard as fuck."

"Fine," she replies airily, used to his curses by now.

They both settle in to their separate corners of the bed, with that boundary line thicker than ever. He retrieves his earplugs from the nightstand and looks over his shoulder at her as she slips on her pajama top.

"Fire Girl…" he trails off, and she sees he's struggling to decide whether to roll toward her or to keep his back turned.

"What?" she prompts him.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, thinking better of it. "Nothing," he mutters.

Then he inserts his earplugs and keeps his back to her once and for all, and she is left wondering what he might have said.

His nightmare is what wakes her that night, and even though he jolts in his sleep and kicks violently, she's too afraid to wake him – too afraid to have to be the one to tell him he was dreaming, that the girl he called for – Caia – might just be gone forever.

* * *

Katniss is with Cinna and her prep team in the morning, and they dress her in something pretty and doll up her face. It scares her that she's used to makeup now; she no longer looks foreign to herself in the mirror. If anything, it just makes her own natural features more visible, especially her grey eyes.

"Are you nervous?" Cinna asks her once they're alone. He pins the gold mockingjay token just above her breast as he never forgets to do. She never forgets, either – without it, she feels unlike herself in the sometimes outlandish outfits.

Katniss shrugs. She's now done the same old thing in eleven other districts. The only thing she's nervous about these days is a barren womb.

"You're braver than him, then," Cinna remarks, and Katniss has a hunch he's speaking of Cato. With a wink, he adds, "But I already knew that."

"What do you mean?"

"Nerissa told me he was nervous going into your district," Cinna answers. "Thought everyone would boo him because he's the one who stole your full victory from you. And he felt a lot of guilt having to meet your family, too, after… well, you know."

With a slight frown, Katniss realizes that Cinna might have a wealth of information on Cato simply passed through the grapevine by Cato's stylist. He's never told her anything before now; certainly not about the victor's fears or feelings.

And she forgot. She forgot, until now, that District 2 isn't just another district – it's Cato's home.

"Well,_ now_ I'm nervous," she mutters.

Cinna chuckles, straightening her outfit and staring down at her with a smile. "No need to be, Katniss. You look radiant."

He must have done a particularly good job with her today, for Effie compliments her as soon as she emerges in the lounge car and Haymitch gives her an approving nod. Even Brutus gives her a number of double-takes and, feeling self-conscious, she decides to take her breakfast to another car.

Cato seems to have the same idea, except he's not eating – he's merely staring out the window at the city before him in the calm of the morning. He looks over at Katniss as she enters, unabashedly letting his eyes travel from her forehead to her toes and then back again. She blushes, but tries to ignore him – and after he's had his fill of her with his eyes, he looks away.

She considers moving to another car to eat her breakfast, but it's too much effort, and Cato would know she's doing it because she's uncomfortable in his presence. She decides that he's not entitled to that satisfaction, so she stays.

Halfway through what's on her plate, Cato turns, leaning against the windowsill and folding his arms across his chest. With her mouth full, she looks up, slowing her chewing.

"Hey," Cato says.

Normally they don't bother with greetings, so she raises an eyebrow and replies with a cautious, "Hey."

"I figure there are some things I should tell you," he says, "before we go out there today."

She swallows. "Okay."

She sits on the edge of her seat, because frankly, she's intrigued by Cato – what used to be an irrationally angry boy has turned into a calm, complacent, reserved man with anger management issues as a side. She knows nothing of his past and, after he shared her bed so many nights, she's dying to learn anything about him, no matter how small – but too proud to ask.

"First is that I didn't tell anybody back home about… this," he says, gesturing to the space between them.

"Neither did I."

"I know," he replies. "And since I didn't mention anything to your mother or sister – or that cousin of yours – I'm feeling that you owe me the same."

She frowns at this. Does he really think so little of her that he'd assume she'd blab such a thing to his family? This is her secret, too, and if he goes down, she goes with him. With that said, she dislikes that he is hanging otherwise invisible debts over her head. The idea of accepting favours – and paying them back – is something she dodges with intention.

"I don't owe you anything," she says stubbornly.

His eyes darken. "I really don't think that's true. Because where would you be if I didn't go along with all of this?"

"Where would_ you_ be?" she retorts. "What are you defending?"

His lips are a thin line and he flares his nostrils as he struggles to keep his cool. She's tested his patience again, and he could fly off the handle – but if he does, she has something to hold against him.

He knows that. He knows, in this moment, that he can't let his emotions get the best of him; he must react rationally to receive the best response from her.

"That's the other thing," he says. "There's a reason I agreed to this… this_ thing_ with you. There's someone I have to look out for. She needs me. And I can't let her…"

He trails off, unable to find the words. Before he gets the chance to finish, Effie bursts into the compartment and swings into action, followed closely by Brutus and Haymitch.

"Up, up, up!" she cries to Katniss, who still hasn't finished her breakfast. "We must get going; there's a big, big, big day ahead!"

As he's shuffled out of the train by a frantic Effie, Cato looks over his shoulder at Katniss, his expression dark but readable – _we're not finished yet_, read his eyes.

She follows him out by Haymitch's side and squints in the bright sunlight. It will be interesting, she muses, to meet the girl who possesses Cato's heart. He's so cold and unaffectionate, so competitive and sadistic. The girl who loves him must be exactly the same or exactly the opposite.

And suddenly, Katniss fears acting in love, because it's not just Gale she's hurting. It's Cato's girl, too: Caia, she suspects, from the name he called out in his sleep.

She squeezes her eyes shut in the light of day, praying that they will not be asked to kiss again.

* * *

District 2 is small in area but large in population. When she comments on its wealth, Brutus assures her there are slum areas, but all she's seen are large, well-maintained houses with decent lots lined evenly along paved streets. People are different here than in District 12; she knows that from the start. They walk with an air of surety, talk like they have nothing to be afraid of. Still, she notices that when peacekeepers step into view, everyone suddenly goes silent and immerses themselves in their own business.

"They train them here," Effie says matter-of-factly as if she's conducting a tour. "Peacekeepers, that is. They're sent here from the Capitol and then onto the districts."

Katniss didn't know that before, but now that Effie mentions it, there appear to be a great number of peacekeepers milling around – much more than in the other districts, even given their high-security Victory Tour.

They meet in the District Circle and are introduced to the crowd. They give their pre-written speeches and wave. The crowd cheers wildly, especially for Cato. He smiles for them, but up close, Katniss sees that the lines of his jaw are tense. She wonders why – this is what he fought for, presumably. To bring pride to his district. And now that they are proud, he's reluctant to accept it.

There's a day planned for them: a parade through the District Circle, a strings, woodwind and brass concert in a shaded park, a re-enactment of the 74th Annual Hunger Games by a classroom of ten-year-olds in a school – this is particularly difficult for Katniss to watch – an hour for autographs and pictures, and then a feast. It's a long day, and Cato doesn't seem thrilled by it, either, for it means they must find new and original ways to display their love for one another all day long. It helps that the district eats their romance right up. The mood here is lighter than the other districts. She senses that, even though the population is under strict control, they reap such benefits from their wealth and such close proximity to the Capitol that they are almost like them, in a way.

And it makes sense, looking at characters such as Cato and Brutus. Two men eager to play the Hunger Games, because they are not about death or vengeance or tyranny, but glory and honour and celebrity.

She learns only minutes prior to their entrance to the feast that Cato's family will be sharing the head table with them. The camera crew thinks it will be an excellent opportunity for Panem to see her bonding with his family.

"Did you know about this?" Katniss hisses to Haymitch. He shrugs. Furious, she adds, "Someone could have told me!"

"What does it matter?"

"I don't know what to expect!"

"Sweetheart, they're not going to eat you," her mentor replies in a condescending tone. She rolls her eyes.

"Out we go!" Effie announces, shooing them all through the door of the banquet hall. A voice over a loudspeaker announces their entry, and in all the hustle and bustle, Cato materializes beside her and grabs a hold of her hand.

"I didn't know—"

"Neither did I," he interrupts her, staring straight ahead as they walk into the crowd. Before they emerge in the bright lights, he adds, "It'll be fine."

She's not sure if he's comforting her or himself, but either way, she latches onto those words and mutters them to herself as they walk out hand-in-hand.

Her eyes are on the head table long before they reach it. With all cameras on them, they stop and wave again to the guests before the triumphant music ceases and the familial introductions.

"This is my mom," he says, releasing Katniss' hand so she can hold it out to shake – but Cato's mother, a slim, tall woman, pulls her in for a hug. She has light hair and light eyes, just like Cato, and while their facial features are quite similar, Katniss sees much more friendliness in the woman than in her son.

"My dad," Cato continues, gesturing to a balding man. His hair is a darker blond, almost brown, and what he lacks in hair on his head is certainly growing in a beard along his jaw and chin. His eyes are sunken in and his suit and tie barely conceal his bulging belly. Though his eyes are a dark brown and his features less defined than his son's, Katniss sees where Cato gets his seriousness. Their brows furrow in almost exactly the same way.

"And this," he says, leaving her side to walk around the table and put his hand on the shoulder of a young girl, "is my sister."

A younger sister. Katniss conceals her surprise as she watches Cato lean down to hug the blonde-haired girl around her shoulders – she might be fourteen, or fifteen at most, just barely older than Prim.

All this time, she never pictured him with a sister.

Katniss approaches the girl, smiling in genuine as she holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you," she says. "I'm Katniss."

The girl returns the smile and the handshake, replying, "I'm Caia."

She raises her eyebrows. _Caia_. It clicks. The girl Cato protects… it's his sister.

But protects from _what_?

It's then that Haymitch and Effie, Raynor and Brutus make their rounds of introduction, and Caia pulls herself away from the table in order to properly shake their hands.

Katniss meets Cato's eyes. He's watching her expectantly, seeing how she'll react to this.

Caia is in a wheelchair.

* * *

Something tells her Haymitch knew about this, for he displays no shock whatsoever in meeting the members of Cato's family and must have watched his family's interviews during the Games. She stares daggers at him at random intervals throughout the feast, hoping that he'll at least show a sliver of remorse. She's not so successful.

Effie eagerly engages anyone she can in conversation, taking a particular liking to Cato's mother, June, who is almost as upbeat as Effie herself. Whatever her family lacks in lust for life, June seems to be compensating for. After studying her for a while, Katniss wonders if her happiness is real. Behind her light eyes and bright smile, there seems to be a sagging weight. A darkness within her that she's suppressing.

Caia is fairly friendly, and Katniss takes a liking to her as soon as she asks in earnest if Effie Trinket is hopped up on stimulants and Brutus on steroids. Cato is just as amused and stuffs a forkful in his mouth to hide his smile. Caia has interesting questions to ask, like what the ocean looks like in District 4 and if District 10, the livestock district, reeks of manure. She hasn't been asked those kinds of questions before, and Katniss feels relief that Caia is so easy to talk to.

Preferring to monitor his family's conversations, Cato remains silent for most of the meal, only chiming in when directly asked a question. He laughs when a joke is told and nods when someone tells a story, but Katniss notices that for the most part, his expression is void of emotion. She expects him to be watching her intently, afraid she'll spill the beans of their secret deal with Snow, but instead she finds that he's more interested in keeping an eye on his father.

Rufus Embry is an outspoken man with a large opinion – one that, luckily for his family, seems to coincide with the views of the Capitol. He holds out his glass for refills whenever a server passes, and by the time dessert is delivered, Katniss reckons he's drunker than Haymitch. The more he drinks, the more he spews his opinion, and the more rigid Cato grows beside her. Caia, too, seems to lose her friendly nature and retreats into herself, becoming more sullen as the evening wears on.

She thinks Cato will just grit his teeth and bear it until the adults get on the subject of the Hunger Games. _Their_ Hunger Games, to be exact. They discuss some of the fallen tributes – their favourite deaths, for of course Brutus and Rufus would have them – and then, with a moustache wet with whiskey, Rufus points drunkenly to Katniss and blurts out, "That starved little Seam girl had him beat. Could've killed him if they hadn't stopped her." His glossed eyes shift to Cato, and he adds, "There's nothing worse than coming in second when victory could have been yours. What is she, eighty pounds soaking wet?"

She freezes, terrified of Cato's reaction. Instead of bursting with rage, he finishes chewing and glares at his father through hooded eyes. Even Effie Trinket knows to keep her mouth shut, but for some reason, Cato's mother keeps smiling, as if that's all the encouragement anyone needs to simmer down.

"I didn't expect the mutts," Cato mutters.

"And that's why you would have died in there," Rufus points out, finishing the dregs of his glass. "Prepare for the worst. Your arrogance got the best of you, and you'd be six feet under if it weren't for some spineless twist of fate."

Katniss flinches at his crassness. How can he say such a thing to his son? Next to Rufus, she begins to wonder if she prefers her mother's shallow indifference to her upbringing.

She looks to Cato. He refuses to meet her gaze, his jaw line hard and the veins in his forearms protruding. If it weren't for the cameras, he would have his hands around his father's neck.

That, or another hole in the wall.

* * *

Katniss nearly weeps with relief when the day is over. Outside the banquet hall, she bids goodbye to the Embrys, giving Cato's mother another hug, a smile and a thank-you to Caia, and a handshake to the drunken Rufus.

"Do yourself a favour," he spits through his strawlike beard, "find yourself a man who can defend himself. A true victor. You don't want to have to look after him."

She can almost feel Cato's icy glare searing through her skull and into his father's chest. But she is sick of this beefy man with his spewing Capitolistic opinions, and despite her better judgment, she replies haughtily, "Thank you, but I'm satisfied with my own choices."

"I don't care how you won," Caia says to Cato as Katniss walks away, leaving him to say his own goodbyes. "All I care about is that you came home."

Rufus' deep voice mutters another low blow to which Cato does not respond. Katniss feels herself shaking with anger. Horrible man. Disgusting lowlife with the nerve to call _her_ a weak little Seam girl. Given up the respect of his son to be consumed by the drink.

Suddenly, it dawns on her why Cato has such a passionate hatred for Haymitch. Haymitch may not be so vocal or Capitol-friendly, but he is uncouth and incontrollable and absolutely drunk most of the time. She knows now why he refuses wine at every event; why he ignores Brutus when he breaks into the liquor cabinet on the train.

He doesn't want to be like his father. He wants to be someone better. For Caia, probably.

It disturbs her to her core, knowing that they are from two different worlds, but they are not so unlike one another after all.

* * *

She's just brushed her teeth and is about to change into her pajamas when there's a knock on her door. It startles her – she didn't expect he'd visit her tonight, not even under all the pressure in the world. She assumed he'd want to be alone with his thoughts, just as she'd wanted after visiting her home district.

"Come in."

He does, stepping inside without a word and closing the door behind him. He tests it – it's already locked from the outside.

Her breath catches in her throat at his appearance. Normally, he doesn't bother to change out of the day's outfit, but tonight, he wears a pair of loose pants with a drawstring at the waist and no shirt. She can't help but admire the sculpted muscles on his abdomen and the broadness of his chest, even if she also imagines how easily he could crush her. His hair is flat against his head and un-styled, and the tips are wet. He probably just came out of the shower.

A million questions wrack her brain, but she can't find the words to utter any of them.

Cato steps into the center of the room, only a few feet from her, stoic and guarded.

"You know what Snow said to me, when he got me to agree to this?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

With a derisive chuckle, he answers, "Reel her in. Tame her."

_Tame_. She's heard that word before – Snow asked her to do the same to Cato, and from the look in his eyes, he knows it. Tame each other, like they're both animals entering a zoo.

Her stubbornness wins over, and she says defiantly, "I don't need to be tamed."

"Neither do I," he says gruffly. "We're the wild ones, you and me. They wanted us to break each other. I think they should be afraid of what they've done."

His words send shivers up her spine, and as he closes the gap between them and stares down at her, it's all she can do to lose herself in his never-ending blue eyes. He brings up a hand and cups it behind her neck.

"I didn't mean to say that to your father," she blurts out. "I wasn't thinking. It just upset me, the way he—"

Cato shakes his head as she speaks, finally silencing her by capturing her lips in a deep kiss. She shuts her eyes and gives in to the heat that almost instantly populates below her navel. When his free hand reaches around and fiddles with the zipper of her dress, she grabs a hold of his wrist near her neck.

"We don't have to," she says, breathless.

The tips of their noses mere centimetres apart, he replies in a low voice, "You know we do."

He kisses her again, successfully undoing the zip on her dress. While she shrugs out of it, she says, "Caia."

He pauses, clearly not expecting her to bring up his sister at a time like this.

But Katniss has to know. "She's the one you're looking out for."

He nods, pulling her closer to reattach their lips.

"What does she need?" Katniss asks as he looks over her shoulder to unclasp her bra. "What would he do to her?"

Cato ignores her, sliding the straps over her shoulders and letting the item of clothing fall to the ground.

Dodging another kiss, she demands, "How did he threaten you?"

"Stop!" Cato cries, holding her upper arms firmly in his grasp.

"He threatened my sister, too," she says quietly.

Annoyed, he shakes his head. "Just shut up. Stop it. No more words."

"But—"

"Katniss," he interrupts her, staring unwaveringly into her eyes.

She hardens her gaze, ready to challenge him – but something stops her. The desperation in his face, maybe. The emotion that's gathered just underneath his rough exterior.

"Okay," she finally surrenders.

He breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay," he repeats.

When he kisses her again, she doesn't back away. She moans when his hands cup the small mounds on her chest and lets him lead her to the bed. He's gentle but insistent, and she allows him control not because Snow told her to, but because he needs it – needs to know he still has a hold over something. And when she hands over the reins so willingly, she finds with surprise that he wields power without dictatorship, encouraging her to move with him and pushing her over an edge she never even knew was there.

Disoriented butterflies are still twirling in her belly even after they've broken apart and she's caught her breath. Cato lays on his back beside her, unmoving. At first, she thinks he's fallen asleep, but his earplugs remain in the drawer and she knows well enough that he won't so much as doze without them.

He seems to sense that she is awake, too, for after a long period of silence, his voice cracks, "He said if I didn't do this, he'd send her into the Games."

Katniss snaps to attention, turning her head toward him on the pillow. "Caia?"

He nods.

"But she—"

"I know," he interrupts her, and not for the first time, she wonders how he knew what she was about to say. "She'd last all of two seconds. Kid in a wheelchair? Sentenced to death and never even given a chance."

Handicapped kids had been reaped before, but their disabilities were much less severe than Caia's – they could walk, that is, whether they be hindered by an arm or a club foot. Even the Capitol wouldn't support a wheelchair-ridden child in the Games – it would ruin the challenge for the other tributes, being too easy to kill and so very anticlimactic. The Games is as much an entertainment show as it is punishment.

"How did it happen?" Katniss asks.

Cato sighs. "She followed me everywhere when we were younger. She's like me – always needs to impress. One day I was at the swimming hole with some friends and she showed up with some of hers. They were only eight or nine. She tried to show off by diving in… hit her head on a rock at the bottom. That's all it took. Paraplegic."

Katniss lets it sink in, imagining a younger Cato laughing at the girls with his buddies only to watch his little sister float lifelessly to the surface on her stomach. She shudders, picturing the smile vanishing from his face.

"There must be something they can do…" she reasons.

"For a price," he adds venomously. "She was in the hospital for weeks. They literally had to bring her back to life. And afterwards, with the wheelchair and the physiotherapy and the home care, it was either spend what was left until we had nothing or use it to send me into training."

She watches him intently though he refuses to meet her gaze. His muscles clench and he gulps, continuing, "It was only supposed to be me who won the Games. If it was just me, they would have let me go home and use the money on her surgery. And if they couldn't fix her, they could replace what was broken. Artificial legs, whatever, so she could walk again. Because when she can walk, she can run. And if she can run, she can run away."

Katniss frowns.

"Your problem is that they'll kill everyone you love," Cato says in conclusion. "Mine is that they'll keep my family together forever."

She wets her lips, noting the way his blond hair curls around his ears and at the nape of his neck when untouched by gels or other styling products.

"Would that be so bad?"

He rolls his eyes, letting his head loll on its side so he can give her a pointed stare. "Nobody asked me if I wanted to be in the Games, Fire Girl," he says, his voice reclaiming its usual superior edge. "My dad just told me that's what I'd have to do. And while I was in training twelve hours a day, six days a week, they either went without dinner or he went without drink. You can guess who got the brunt of the blame for diving into that damn river. Haymitch is a drunk, too, but at least he only hurts himself."

Katniss pauses, bringing the sheets up to her chin as she considers this. "Did it… does he hit her?"

She tries to imagine Prim getting smacked around by her mother, but she can't. Her mother is too gentle, and even when she was far removed from reality, she still loved her daughters.

He grinds his teeth, looking away. "I got almost everything from my mom," he says, "but what I inherited from my dad? Strength. Anger. Violence."

That says it all.

When he glances at her again, he scowls. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" She stares at the mattress then, as if it proves she's not interested.

"Like_ that_," he spits. "I don't need that from you. I'm not here for therapy. I'm here because I have to be."

With a frustrated sigh, she retorts, "So am I."

"Fine," he concludes. He tries, but he can't smother the annoyance in his voice as he adds before rolling over, "And thank you – for keeping your mouth shut today like I asked."

With his back to her, he can't see her rolling her eyes. In a small voice, she answers, "I wouldn't have said anything anyway."

There's a pause. Reluctantly, he admits, "I know."

Those are the last words they exchange, and she falls asleep with his taste on her lips. That night, she dreams of an alternate ending to the Games – one where Cato falls to the mutts and she is left screaming for him atop the Cornucopia, and when she visits District 2 on the Victory Tour, Caia stares up at her from her wheelchair, tears streaking down her battered and bruised face, her legs crippled for life and chaining her in place.

She wakes with a jolt, and as her eyes fly open, she sees him startle as well. He sucks in a sharp breath and, as her heart rate slows, she monitors his breathing – shallow and uneven. He's awake, just as she is.

But he does not roll over, and she does not make a sound.

* * *

The Capitol is just as upside-down as she remembers – perhaps even more so, now that she isn't concerned about being thrown into an arena for slaughter. Then again, the last time she was in the Capitol, she never imagined she would have another victor by her side, an impending uprising on her shoulders and a baby to conceive.

This is their last chance. Not only for the baby, but to convince the districts that they are madly in love, that it was the Games that brought them together, that the Capitol is truly merciful and_ good_ for allowing them both to live.

Back in the Training Center, while Cinna makes alterations to her gown and her prep team flutters around her, she stares at herself in the mirror. Her stomach, in particular. It's flat and narrow. What will it look like curvy and swollen? She imagines a watermelon sitting there and balks at the thought. Once it's out, it will be even worse.

When her prep team is done and Cinna leaves to finish the final touches, she joins the mentors, escorts, and Cato in the lounge, although she seems to have missed an important discussion. Haymitch looks annoyed, Brutus is exasperated, Cato is furious beyond belief, and Effie is beside herself with joy. A conversation to have this kind of widespread and dramatic effect is not something Katniss should have missed.

As soon as she sits down, Cato flies up from his chair and sends it crashing to the ground before stalking away. She jumps at the loud noise, bewildered.

"What happened?" she asks.

"It's a big, big, big—" Effie begins, but Haymitch holds up his hand to silence her.

"He needs to be alone, sweetheart," he says. "Now that you're here, we can discuss how you're going to present yourself for the interview with Caesar this evening."

Katniss nods distractedly, glancing in Cato's direction, but he's long gone, vanished into a bedroom to release his rage into a pillow, or maybe another wall. She snickers at the thought of Effie's overblown reaction if he were to destroy a piece of furniture or designer decoration.

The rest of the day is spent with Haymitch. He attempts to coach her into upping her likeability factor but finally gives up, instructing her just to do whatever she did last time she was onstage, except _try not to stir up a goddamn rebellion this time, sweetheart._

With those scintillating words of confidence, she isn't given a moment to rest before she's whisked away to be dressed for the interview and after-party, held in the mansion of Snow himself. Venia and Octavia style her hair in the most elaborate up-do she's ever seen, and with long, thick hair like hers, she already feels her neck weakening from the weight. Cinna dresses her in a startling blue number, and she can't help thinking it's just the colour of Cato's eyes.

Cinna and Nerissa have been collaborating, apparently, because when Cato appears, his tie is exactly the shade of her dress. He gives her a stony stare as they meet backstage, hands fiddling in his pockets. He's clearly in a rotten mood – but even with his dark demeanour, so infuriatingly handsome – and she can only hope that he'll pull it together for their last public appearance on their Victory Tour.

"Haymitch thinks it would be best if we left the mockingjay out of your ensemble for tonight," Cinna says. "Personally, I'd go for it… but I was outvoted."

With the golden pin in his hand, he curls it into his fist.

"Wear it," comes Cato's quiet voice.

Her head snaps up, unaware that he was listening. "What?"

"You should wear it," he says, pushing himself away from the wall and approaching her. "Everyone knows it's your token. It can't hurt."

Haymitch spots them from across the room and strolls over to input his two cents. "It's your last ditch effort to prove that rebellion was never on your mind."

"And we're trying like hell," Cato snaps. "She's been wearing the pin the whole time. If she doesn't wear it tonight, they'll notice. They'll think they forced her to take it off."

"Or they'll think she was never wearing it as a symbol," Haymitch argues.

Katniss watches the altercation take place in front of her eyes, not realizing that her pin had had such an effect on the population. Did it really mean that much? Cato didn't seem to think so. Or if he did, he didn't care.

"After tonight, they'll have no choice but to believe what we're putting out there," Cato says to Haymitch, stuffing his hands once again into his pockets. "Who's gonna care about a stupid pin?"

Deciding to ignore the young victor, Haymitch looks pointedly at Katniss and says, "No pin."

She looks helplessly at Cinna, who rolls his golden-lined eyes at Haymitch's insistence. With a small smile, she gives his hand a squeeze before she's instructed by the production crew to prepare to take the stage.

"Sixty seconds," one announces.

They're led down a dark, narrow corridor and up a set of stairs to wait for their introduction from Caesar Flickerman. As she walks, a hand grabs her wrist and spins her around. Cato takes a step toward her and unfurls his fist to reveal the pin. When she frowns in confusion, he puts his index finger to his lips.

Baffled, she stands still so that he can secure the pin to her dress. While he focuses on the pin, she stares inquisitively into his blank expression.

"Why?" she manages to ask.

"Thirty seconds," declares one of the backstage crew.

"I want them to remember," he says, letting his hands fall back into his pockets, "that you're the Girl on Fire."

"What if it hurts us?"

"Then fuck them," he says, keeping his voice low. "If a pin can hurt us, we have no chance no matter what we do."

_It's not the pin_, she wants to say, _it's what the pin represents_. But he knows. He knows, and something has pushed him toward this. Otherwise so acquiescent, he's finally had enough.

Thirty minutes later, she discovers what has had him fiddling in his pockets; what has angered him to the point of throwing it all away. With the crowd applauding and cheering for their victory and romance, Caesar asks them what their future holds. That's when Cato gets down on one knee, and from his pocket, he produces a ring.

He asks for her hand in marriage.

The audience gasps and screams, yet there is no one more surprised than Katniss herself. Somehow, she feels she should have seen this coming – not just today, but long, long ago. She can't conceal the furious blush on her cheeks or her absolute astonishment, and she realizes almost instantly that Haymitch wanted it that way. She's a poor actor, and he wanted a genuine reaction.

She has half a mind to slap Cato across the face and publicly deny him. It would serve Haymitch right for being so despicably sneaky, and Cato for agreeing to it. But it's true: it's their last shot at peace, and they must try everything they can. His mask is sure and expectant, but underneath and up close, she sees the apprehension and desperation in his eyes.

He's not doing this to hurt her or to save himself. He's doing this for Caia.

And even though she hates him with fires she's never before known existed within her, she has to accept.

He slides the ring onto her finger and pulls her in for a glorious kiss. It's done. Settled.

She prolongs the kiss to allow herself a moment to swallow her tears, for all she can imagine is a broken Gale sitting in front of the television at home.

* * *

Haymitch's apologetic and grim expression does nothing to calm her fury when she finds him backstage. While the Capitol continues to cheer for the betrothed victors, imagining them holding hands and whispering sweet words to one another backstage, Katniss marches straight up to her mentor and slams him into a wall.

"How dare you!" she cries, uncaring that glitter falls from her hair onto his shirt. She grips his collar in her fist and pushes him back when he tries to gain control. "How _dare_ you arrange this behind my back! You're supposed to be helping me, and instead you made me look like a… like a…"

"Peaceful teenager in love?" Haymitch suggests.

She's about to slam him again when someone grips her arms from behind, pulling her back. She whips around to Cato restraining her, his jaw rigid and eyes fraught with unrest.

"It was the only way," he says. "The last option. Can't you see that?"

Seething, she breathes, "_You_. How could you agree to this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you're a shitty actress and would have ruined it onstage," he bites back.

"I wouldn't have let it happen!" she argues.

With a smirk, he replies with satisfaction, "You really think you have a choice, princess?"

Her hand swings forward on instinct, but before it can collide with his cheek, he catches her wrist. His blue eyes have never looked so dangerous.

"I wouldn't," he says, his voice low.

She glares back at him, yanking her arm free of his grasp. "I hate you," is her venomous reply.

It's true. She absolutely hates him. Hates him for his cockiness, his coldness, his insane and terrifying anger. And she hates herself for lowering her bow when Claudius Templesmith spoke in the arena. She should have killed him in there. She could have, and she blew it. She'd be dead now, of course, with her mother and Prim and maybe even Gale, but at least it would all be over.

Katniss gathers her dress in her hands and stalks away from them, the traitors who orchestrated the total destruction of the rest of her life. This wasn't something she could take back. This wasn't just a temporary show. This was something she would have to live with forever. Herself and her mother and Prim and Gale. The mere thought of his name hurts her heart.

Her only intention is to lock herself in her room and burst into tears, but as she storms away, it's Cinna who catches up with her and, in a collected, even tone, reminds her of the Capitol ball in their honour. Hers and Cato's.

And it starts right now.

* * *

The ball is held in President Snow's glorious mansion, and it appears that all of the most notable names in the Capitol have been invited. A strings band plays lovely music for the mingling guests, who gather to celebrate the victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games and are eager to see them enter arm-in-arm, engaged to be married.

It's quite the unexpected turn of events, and even through the closed door to the hall, Katniss can hear the noisy and excited chatter.

She waits with Cato, whose hands are stuffed in his pockets and whose steely expression makes her want to punch the arrogance right out of his face. Haymitch and Brutus and the others have already entered, but the victors are meant to be announced. A grand entrance is in store, as always.

Katniss consoles herself with the thought that this is the last one. It's the last stop on the Victory Tour. If she gets through tonight on good behaviour, it will all be behind her.

Except for the marriage, of course. That will loom ever-so-heavily ahead of her.

When they're announced through the wooden doors, she slides her arm stiffly through Cato's and they each take a breath, readying their faux smiles and exuberance. _Radiate happiness_, Brutus had instructed them.

The hall is like nothing Katniss has ever seen before, and she's not acting when her eyes widen and she gazes at the room in wonder and awe. The musicians she heard from the lobby are floating on little clouds above the guests, just underneath the ceiling, which has been transformed into a night sky with thousands of dazzling stars. Islands of food – enormous platters of colourful, juicy, extravagant food – are scattered amongst the room. In the center of the floor, there is a large square of marble flooring for performers and, later, dancing. With amusement, Katniss thinks that it's the first time she's not drawn to the oddities of Capitol wardrobes. Everyone is dressed in ridiculous fashion, as usual, but she finds she's not at all interested in their style of dress. She just wants to eat.

So she does. Everything from tender duck marinated in an orange cream to strange fish from District 4 dipped in spicy sauce to fresh sweetbread glazed in icing. She's sampled barely a quarter of the available dishes when her stomach threatens to explode, and then she regrets not taking tinier portions. Though she's never at a loss for company, as there's always a new Capitol personality who seeks out her attention and demands her feigned pleasantries, she does take a moment to find Cinna and thank him for dressing her without a cinched waist and corset today. She's certain that she's expanded at least an inch or two since entering the banquet.

Food, drink and guests keep her busy and distracted for a large chunk of the evening, but since most of her conversational partners ask about her engagement and wedding, she's grudgingly unable to forget that somewhere within the banquet hall, Cato is answering the same kinds of questions.

And just when she internally remarks that she's happy they've been so swarmed that they haven't had to spend a lick of time together, he approaches her from behind and whispers that their mentors want them to dance.

_I don't give a damn what they want_, screams the retort on the tip of her tongue. It never does leave her lips, as she's whisked away from her group of fans with an apology and onto the dance floor. Fear seizes her instantly, for she only knows the kind of dancing prevalent in District 12, and even then she doesn't know much. Effie tried to teach her and Cato on the train a few days ago, but Cato simply walked away and Haymitch proved to be a horrible dance partner.

Now she wishes that she had paid more attention, because this music is nothing like the fiddle-crazy romps in District 12 and the partnered guests seem to glide effortlessly on the marble floor. She can move without sound in the woods on a hunt, but Katniss certainly can't _glide_.

With her nerves on edge, she freezes as Cato places a hand on her waist and draws her close to him.

"I can't dance," she whispers.

"It's easy," he replies with a scoff. Most times, she abhors his arrogance, but right then she wishes it was hers.

He takes her left hand in his, and as soon as she places her right hand on his shoulder, he begins to move. At first, she's uncertain, stepping twice as much as necessary and dragging her feet, but his confident movements have a calming effect on her and she settles into a rhythm, willing to give him the lead. It's just like swaying, really, and not very stimulating at all. What's more nerve-wracking to her is having her chest pressed against Cato's, his hand resting on the small of her back, his breath tickling her ear. Dancing in the Capitol is barely moving at all, which is why she's surprised to feel her heart beating as if she's just run a marathon, not at all helped by Cato intertwining their fingers.

She turns her head away from his shoulder and watches the other guests, offering them smiles when they glance her way. She's glad that Cato doesn't speak to her. It's almost dreamy, floating across the dance floor this way, and though she has a bone to pick with him, she'd rather do it later. For now, the quiet suits her.

It's tempting to rest her chin on his shoulder as they move in tandem, but his interest in her ring finger prevents her from doing so. With their hands connected, she feels him toying with the jewel on her finger.

Bringing her head away from his chest, she looks first to their hands and then to him, curious.

"If it were my idea, I would have picked out something less flashy," he muses, marvelling at the size of the diamond.

"When would it ever have been your idea?" she challenges.

He shrugs, unaffected by her cutting question. "It must weigh a ton," he continues, more to himself than to her.

"I'm strong. I'll handle it."

"Mm hmm," he hums, sounding agreeable rather than condescending.

With a sigh, she turns her head again, only to have his low voice thrumming pleasantly in her ear.

"Do you think we did it? Convinced them?"

She wishes he wouldn't talk about it now, but the room is too busy for anyone to be eavesdropping. "It seems like it in here," is her quiet reply, "but these were never the ones we had to convince."

He doesn't know about District 8, and she's not going to be the one to break it to him.

His tortured sigh is hot against her neck. At that moment, a large, bubbly man approaches and asks to cut in, promising not to run away with Cato's blushing bride.

Katniss fights the urge to roll her eyes. Cato merely laughs, releasing his grip on her and handing her over like she's a toy.

As soon as he walks away, she wishes he hadn't. She had felt safe and secure in his arms, knowing that he wouldn't allow her to embarrass herself, but with this new man whose belly is large and whose fingers are sausages, she feels that there might just be an embarrassing moment ahead. His hold on her is flimsy, and they are two separate dancers instead of one as they move clumsily on the floor. She cringes as his hand finds the small of her back, still warm from Cato's touch, for even after Cinna and the prep teams, she's not accustomed to the touch of others. She's learned to bear it with Cato, but with a stranger, it's uncomfortable and alarming.

The man is Plutarch Heavensbee, whom Katniss knows to be the new Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane was disposed of for his sentimentality during her Games. Plutarch has picked an excellent year to rise up the gamemaker ladder, for it's approaching the Quarter Quell, which only happens once every twenty-five years and features new, sickening twists to the already horrifying Games.

They make small talk for a few minutes as they dance. Normally, Katniss would wonder why someone had approached her when they didn't have anything of substance to say, but it seems to be the flavour of the evening. Everyone wants just a moment in the victor's presence, even the Head Gamemaker.

It's only when Plutarch says he must be getting to a gamemakers' meeting – at the stroke of midnight on the night of the feast – that Katniss begins to wonder his motives. With a puzzled expression, she's almost certain she sees the image of a mockingjay embedded in the face of his pocket watch. She may have imagined it, because he snaps it shut as quickly as it was opened and declares that he must be on his way.

_Odd_, she thinks. Without a partner, she's free to leave the dance floor, and she does so quickly before another can sweep her up.

"We're on the train at one," Haymitch tells her, and at the mention of the time, exhaustion overcomes her. "Best gather your things from the Training Center."

She's still furious with him for orchestrating her engagement behind her back, but she can't deny that those are the best words she's heard all day. With Haymitch by her side, she bids farewell to the guests as she passes, plastering a cheery smile on her face as she thanks President Snow for his generosity and support.

He nods back at her with snakelike eyes. Eyes that read not of generosity, but of cruelty. And rimmed around the cruelty is nothing but disappointment – for as of this moment, she has failed him.

* * *

Her belongings have mostly been packed for her, but she finishes up quickly and, with the extra time on her hands, ventures up to the roof. The last time she was there, Peeta was with her, promising with gritty determination that he wouldn't be another piece in their Games. She didn't quite understand him then. She does now, having been played as a pawn all across the board.

_Peeta_, she thinks, and the name is a knife twisting in her gut. She hates him for betraying her, hates him for pretending to love her, but the hatred is null next to her overwhelming gratitude. What would it be like if he had lived instead of her? Nothing, probably. Peeta would be clever enough not to inspire a revolution and would avoid the Capitol, its politics and its devious ways with ease. He was too good for that.

It's solemn up here, just as she remembers, even with the noise and excitement of the Capitol bustling below in the late hours of night. Truly alone for the first time in weeks, Katniss lets her mind wander over the events of the day, absently twirling the ring on her finger as she thinks of Peeta and Prim and the hurt, infuriated expression that's sure to be on Gale's face when she steps off of the train in her district.

It's impossible to predict how things would have turned out if it weren't for the Games. Gale still would have had to work in the mines, and Katniss would have had to take over the daily snare run and hunt for both of their families all the same. Would he have kissed her that day in the woods? Would he have even be tempted? She never really wanted to marry, not even to him – though perhaps she would have wanted to kiss him at one point. To feel his strong arms around her, holding her tight and promising her they'd make it through together.

But it doesn't matter now. It will never be.

She's transfixed by the glittering diamond and the way it reflects when spun in the light of the moon and doesn't realize she's crying until her vision blurs and a droplet falls on her wrist. She feels so helpless and so used, but what kills her is that she chose all of this. She chose it the day she volunteered for Prim, and no matter how she reasons it in her mind, she knows there was no other path for her. Even in an alternate universe, she would have volunteered to save her sister.

"Are you thinking of him?"

A deep voice cuts through her tears, and she sniffles as her head snaps up, wondering how Cato knew she was up here and why he cared to join her.

"Your cousin," he adds, as if he needs to clarify. He's removed his blazer and loosened his tie and stands just a few feet away with hands in his pockets. It's almost possible to pretend that he gives off an aura of humility.

Almost.

"What does it matter?" she asks.

He shrugs.

She can't resist adding haughtily, "You know he's not my cousin."

"Boyfriend?" he suggests.

She grits her teeth and doesn't offer a reply. He produces a tissue from his pocket and offers it to her. She grabs it from his outstretched hand and dabs her watering eyes.

"You can say it," he continues, taking a step toward her. "You don't owe me anything. I have to say I'm surprised, though – in the arena, we all thought it was Lover Boy."

She lunges at him without a second thought, but he's quick to react for the second time that day, grabbing both of her wrists in his hands and deflecting a kick.

"You keep forgetting that out of the two of us, I'm the one who spent years in training," he says in amusement.

"And you keep forgetting that I could have killed you in there," she retorts. His blue eyes darken, humour lost. "You killed him," she spits. "How will I ever know if what he said was true? How will I ever be able to pay him back or figure out how I could have felt about him?"

This seems to annoy Cato, and he releases her wrists with a light shove. "It's the Hunger Games, Katniss – what about that don't you understand? _Everyone_ dies. Except for us."

"But _you_ killed him."

"Like you killed Marvel and Glimmer," Cato counters, referencing his Career allies. "Like Thresh killed Clove. What's the difference?"

"You didn't love Clove." She says it with certainty, even as she recalls his crumpled, broken form mourning over Clove's dead body.

He laughs at this, a snide, derisive laugh that sends a cold shiver down her spine. "No, I didn't, Katniss," he says matter-of-factly, "because I'm not a fucking idiot. Love in the arena – how stupid can you be? What do they teach you in 12?"

"Apparently compassion," is her smooth reply.

"Says the girl who took out two kids by purposely cutting down a tracker jacker nest."

"That was self-preservation. You would have killed me."

"Yeah, I would have," he agrees without a hint of emotion, "and you would have done the same in the end, if they hadn't told you to stop."

Fuming, she whips her head around to stare over the ledge of the roof at the lights and noise below. Softly, she finishes, "But they did."

"But they did," he repeats. "And now we're bound to each other, so everything Lover Boy said and everything your 'cousin' is to you can't matter anymore. You don't find love in the arena, Fire Girl. If you live, it's with hate and resentment and anger."

If she only had her bow, she'd shoot him then and there. As it is, her gown restricts her movements. She'd kill him if it weren't for that – she hates him that much.

"They teach you that in training?" she asks him.

He narrows his eyes. "No, Katniss," he says slowly, offering a tight-lipped smile. "They conveniently left that part out."

* * *

Immediately after boarding the train, Katniss marches to her bedroom and shuts herself in. She spends a few minutes determining how to lock the door from the inside – as it otherwise locks from the outside, she's never had to worry about it – but she figures it out and moves the latch into place.

It's only ten minutes before he's there, knocking for her. The faucet in the bathroom is running as she brushes her teeth, so she doesn't hear the soft rapping at first. She only notices when, from the bathroom, she sees the doorknob twist. He tries it a few times and then knocks again, this time louder.

She turns off the tap and tiptoes to bed.

"Let me in, Fire Girl," he says threateningly.

She'll do no such thing. She's done it enough, and every time, they've been unsuccessful. If they're doomed to fail, then she won't spend another night with him. She stubbornly refuses to allow her body to betray her again.

His fist bangs on the door as his temper rises, and each time it connects, she's jarred.

"Katniss!" he calls. "Let me in!"

She knows what he's thinking. This is their last shot. In the morning, he'll be dropped off in District 2, and who knows when they'll see each other again. It could be months. And in months' time, her stomach is expected to be blooming with a fresh baby born of threats and lies and hatred.

Cato continues to bang on the door, demanding that she unlock it for him, and she curls into a ball and shuts her eyes, apologizing to the ones she loves for failing to do what was asked of her. _It's not for lack of trying_, she offers as an excuse. _But our bodies weren't made for one another. We couldn't make a child together._

He gives up and leaves, but not without a cry of fury and a curse thrown in her direction. She is left alone in the darkness, to sleep on her bed however she pleases. But she still finds herself gravitating to the corner, and though she's absolutely exhausted, she imagines Cato hiding somewhere in the room and doesn't sleep a wink.

It's an odd feeling, to be so relieved while so on edge.

* * *

_He hunts down Foxface first. Her image is projected into the sky that evening, and Katniss uses the light it gives off to reread her note from Prim for the hundredth time._

Please don't give up_, it says. _You're so close. I need you. Peeta would've wanted you to try.

_ The boy with the bread, speaking to her even beyond the grave. The burden of her debt makes her shoulders sag._

_ The following night, it's Thresh's face in the sky. She feels pity, for he saved her life, too. But Cato has his own score to settle, and if it weren't for Thresh, Clove might still be alive. But Thresh was stronger. Bigger. The only asset of Cato's is his pure madness._

_ And then there's only two. She'll be next on his hit list; the girl he intended to murder first._

_ She evades him all day, but when night falls – hours early, this time, as the gamemakers want this to end – the mutts rise from the ground. They charge at her, and before she can gather her wits and run, she sees Glimmer in one's eyes. The mighty Thresh in another. And in the one on her heels, Rue. _

_ She's certain one wouldn't be able to tell from behind a television screen, and that's how she knows this cruel trick is intended just for her. To haunt her forever, however long forever takes – just a few more minutes, maybe._

_ She races across the meadow and climbs onto the Cornucopia, her feet slipping on the metal as the mutts growl and nip at her heels. The boy with the steel blue eyes is already there, panting wildly and asking through gasps if they can climb. _

_ They catch their breath in silence, and from the panic in his blue irises, she knows he sees it too – he knows that these mutts are the fallen tributes. So many of them, he killed personally. How horrific it must be, for looking into the eyes of the one who is supposed to be Marvel from 1, whom she killed for Rue, induces a nauseating flip in her stomach. Is Peeta amongst these mutts? Will he rip her apart? Then will they be even?_

_ With their breathing slowed, they lock eyes from just feet apart. A slice of understanding is exchanged. No matter who comes out, this is the end._

_ Cato lunges for her, the calm in his eyes replaced by rabid fury. She falls back on the Cornucopia with a painful _thump_. The force of the fall has spilled arrows from her quiver__, so while he brandishes his sword, she reaches for an arrow. Before he can bring the weapon crashing down, she stabs him in the side._

_ He howls in pain, and she rolls out from under his crumpled form and gathers what she can of the arrows. It's not long before he pulls the weapon from his side and forces himself up._

_ She has an arrow aimed straight at his heart._

_ "It would have been you," she says calmly, the bow steady in her hands, "but I have my sister to go home to."_

_ He shakes his head amidst gasps, a crazy smile on his face. "Fire Girl," he spits, contempt oozing from every breath, "you think you're the only one." _

_ Confused, she takes a moment to pause. What does he mean, with those cryptic words?_

_ He drops his sword, holding up his hands in surrender as he looks to the sky. "I'm sorry," he says, loud enough for them to hear._

_ She studies him curiously. Once, with berries in hand, those were her last words, too. To whom is he speaking? Who awaits his return back in District 2?_

_ "Stop," Claudius Templesmith's voice booms over the loudspeaker._

_ Both tributes snap up their heads, looking around as if he's somewhere to be found in the arena._

_ "Drop your bow."_

_ She does no such thing, but lowers it._

_ "Ladies and gentlemen," he speaks to Panem, "I give you, the victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Cato Embry and Katniss Everdeen!"_

_ The trumpets sound. _

_ She looks to Cato. His eyes bore into hers. _

_ And then, above them, a hovercraft materializes to take them out._

* * *

Katniss doesn't feel any different, at first, but back in District 12, her mother performs a series of tests on her and determines that she is, in fact, pregnant.

Even though it's what she'd been hoping for with fierce and almost insane will, the news still hits her like a blow to the gut. Frozen in fear and disbelief, she can't even blubber through half of the explanation to a baffled and furious Mrs. Everdeen before she's told to stop, just stop. The words aren't coming out right. Her jaw seems to have slackened. Her legs won't stop shaking. Her heart can't cease its rapid beat even though she's resting in place. And all of that is nothing compared to the turmoil in her brain, the roiling in her stomach. A shadow of darkness envelops her with crooked, unyielding claws.

Her mother sends her to bed with a cup of hot water and lemon, but she does not sleep for a long time. Her hand slides purposefully over the smooth skin of her stomach, and she's careful not to press down too hard. She tries to feel movement, but of course it's too early. Still, she feels different, somehow – horribly different. Like the Capitol and the Games have not only altered and damaged her present and future, but have also penetrated deep inside her to a place she thought they couldn't touch. Her body is not her own anymore. They have taken it from her.

Something lives within her now – something that is not her own. _Cato_ lives within her now. And that piece of him will only grow. Soon, it will hear and eat and think. She imagines it ripping apart the walls of her stomach or kicking a hole right through her skin in a fit of rage.

She understands, now, what Snow was saying to her all those months ago after the Hunger Games. What he meant when he told her she would belong to Cato. It's clear, now, that the other victor owns her in a way that no one else ever will. His body has joined with hers and changed it in a deep, irreversible way.

She hates it. She hates the child. It's hers, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels foreign and cruel and invasive. She never asked for it. She never wanted it.

Her hand flies away from her stomach. Even in her dark, quiet bedroom, she has a sinking feeling that she is no longer alone, and never will she be alone again.

* * *

Remnants of a long-forgotten cabin by a lake are nestled deep in the woods outside of the district, unbeknownst to civilization. Katniss is certain that only she and her late father know of its existence, and she leaves a trail through the forest for Gale to find her there. If he comes at all, that is. It's her first Sunday back in the district. Her sparkling engagement ring sits far away in the top drawer of her dresser at home, never to be worn here.

Her teeth chatter even after she builds a fire. She so badly hopes that Gale still cares enough to find her, but so badly fears the moment he appears in the doorway, for she'll have to tell him everything. He'll be angry no matter what, but she clings to the hope that it will be the kind of anger that joins them together; not the kind of anger that tears them apart forever.

Because she can't lose him. No matter how selfish it is, she can't bear for him to hate her.

When he arrives, his eyes smouldering and nostrils flaring, he simply stands there, refusing to take even one more step toward her.

She can't really blame him. With a sigh, she says, "I guess there's no point in asking whether you missed my interview with Caesar last week."

He grimaces, and she wishes she'd treaded with lighter footing. "Nope," he answers curtly. "And even if I had, it's been on a twenty-four hour rerun ever since."

It's her turn to cringe. She could go through every detail to explain how it came to be, but instead, all she offers is, "He was going to kill you."

"Your fiancé?"

The word sounds so ugly and contemptuous as it slides from his lips. She's glad to say, "No. Snow."

Gale's grey eyes narrow into a frown. "Kill me? That I find hard to believe. What threat does the poorest kid from the poorest district pose to Snow?"

"None," she snaps. "It's not what you could do to him; it's what the threat can do to me. He knows how much I—" She stops herself, correcting quietly, "He knows how important you are to me. What I would do to keep you alive."

"What would you do, Katniss?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest at the challenge. A wild turkey dangles lifelessly from his belt.

"Anything," she admits, breaking their stare.

"Marry a beast?"

"And worse," she affirms, the news of her pregnancy stuck in her throat.

Gale steps into the room, keeping a cool distance from her. "I can hold my own," he mutters. "I never asked you to defend me."

"It wasn't just you. It was Prim, my mother, Posy, your brothers – everyone we love. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same?"

"Can_ you_ honestly say you've thought about what this means?" he counters. "Katniss, do you think he's gonna move here and you'll set up house right next to Prim? You think everything will go on as it always has except you'll have someone sharing your bed? No! The moment you say 'I do' is the moment you say goodbye to 12 forever. What good is keeping all of us alive if you never see us again?"

"Because you'll be_ alive_. And alive is better than dead."

He snorts. "Is it?"

She frowns, his words stinging. "Don't say that."

"What do you want me to say?" he cries. "That it thrilled me to watch you prance around onscreen with the guy who tried to kill you? That I'm throwing you a wedding shower?"

She stands, hoping to persuade him to see reason. "Gale—"

"You know as well as I did that it was gonna be you and me," he says, pointing angrily at her. "We'd never be rich or fat or accomplished, but god damnit, we'd be happy." He grits his teeth. "If the Games never happened—"

"But the Games _did_ happen," she interrupts him, hating to think of what could have been. "And now all I am is afraid. It's the only feeling I have time for. And after I heard about the uprising in 8, it's even more important that I—"

She cuts herself off again, alarmed at the light in his eyes. Mentioning the uprising was not a good idea.

"Uprising in 8?" he asks for clarification. Reluctantly, she nods. "Have there been others?"

"I don't know," she says with a sigh. "Snow said there might be if Cato and I didn't convince the districts we were in love."

Gale's eyes wander the cracked, crumbling walls of the cabin, lost in thought. "An uprising…" he says to himself. His eyes find hers once more, determined and edgy. "Don't you see? An _uprising_, Catnip. A way out."

It's her turn to be short with him. "If the districts rebel, he'll kill everyone I love."

Grey eyes shining with excitement, he replies, "Not if we kill him first."

* * *

She doesn't tell him about the baby. Every time he's near she can't find the words, and every time she screws her courage to the sticking place, it only takes one mental image of his broken, battered body tied to that wooden stake outside of the Justice Building to reel her secret back in. The whipping happened just hours after their rendez-vous in the woods that day. Gale wandered into town with a turkey to barter, and he happened to run into the wrong peacekeeper.

And the wrong peacekeeper made the wrong move, for after Katniss found him and jumped in front of his body to deflect yet another wound, Haymitch ensured that he was removed from the district. How dare he inflict a flesh wound on the cheek of Capitol's most beloved bride?

Gale lays unconscious at her house for several hours, and for many conscious days after that. Her mother takes great care of him, but Katniss sees in his eyes that he'd rather not be near her. Not after she refused his kiss again in the woods. The resolve in his eyes after being whipped by a Capitol mercenary terrifies her. More than ever, he's determined to rebel. Not just for her anymore, but for the district itself. When he's finally well enough to go home, she knows it will be the last she sees of him for a while.

She continues to hunt, for whether or not Gale is giving her the silent treatment, his family still needs to eat. Alone in the woods is where she encounters two runaways from District 8 who present her with her mockingjay baked into flatbreadand who say they're headed to 13, the obliterated district from the Dark Days. She's wary to believe them. Everything she's ever known tells her 13 no longer exists.

The wiring around the outskirts of the district is reactivated on a hunt, and to avoid getting caught, she sprains her ankle in climbing up a tree and dropping down from a great height. She's bedridden for days as her mother fusses over her, scolding her that this is no way to go about a pregnancy.

With nothing to do but sit in bed, she begins to notice that her stomach has ballooned. Some may mistake it for the excess food on her plate now that she's a victor, but it's unmistakeable to her: inside the bulge sits a child. The spawn of Cato; the weapon of Snow.

Gale visits her one Sunday evening, much to her surprise. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she can smell the fresh pine on his clothes and the dried sweat from a day's hunt. How he dodged the electrical fence, she may never know. You do what you must to keep your family alive.

"I'm sorry," she says, the first to break the silence. "I can't hunt anymore. They're always watching me. But I have food, Gale. More than enough for yours and mine. Please, just… let me…"

He shakes his head, watching her blankly as her lip quivers. He's slipping through her fingers so fast that her heart stings of rope burn.

His eyes dip from her lips to her belly, hidden only by a thin shirt in the spring weather.

"It was never just the marriage," he asks slowly, carefully. "Was it?"

Her eyes squeeze shut, an involuntary tear slipping out. Holding in a breath, she shakes her head.

When she opens her eyes again, he is gone. Her bed is empty once more.

* * *

_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors._

Prim begins to cry as soon as the words are uttered, and Katniss' mother lets out a shriek of horror. As for Katniss herself, it takes much longer for the message to sink in. Existing pool of victors. That means her. And there are no other females in District 12 who have won.

She stumbles out of her house on instinct, unsure where to go but knowing it has to be anywhere but here. The Victor's Village is deadly silent, and as she marches along the path to another house, another refuge, she has to make a stop on the side of the road as a wave of nausea overcomes her. It might be the pregnancy, although she thought she conquered the morning sickness months ago. It's far from morning, anyway.

Must be the Quell.

It leaves her shaking, and as she climbs into the basement of another empty victor's house to be alone with her thoughts, she can't help reminding herself that she is not alone. Not at all.

When she goes back into the arena, she'll be taking the baby with her.

All of a sudden, she recalls what Snow said to her so many months ago, when she asked if her child would one day be reaped for the Games.

_To be honest, Miss Everdeen, I hadn't thought that far ahead._

There was no lie in those words, but a much deeper meaning that she had been too foolish to grasp. It was Snow's plan all along to send her back into the arena. It was his plan to have her unborn child go with her. The mercy on her life to date has only been spared for the most grotesque display of power ever shown by the Capitol. Not only will she die for her defiance, but so will a child conceived by two wild cards. It is Snow's greatest plan, to quash the present problem and a problem of the future all in one.

The Quarter Quells have been written for decades now, ever since the Games was devised after the Dark Days. Everyone will assume it's just unfortunate coincidence. With her hand caressing the time bomb in her stomach, she knows without a doubt that it's no coincidence at all. Snow planned this from the moment she and Cato emerged from the arena together. Even if their love-stricken act had fooled each and every district, he had a different plan right from the beginning.

They say it's mercy, two victors coming out of the Games alive. She knows differently.

It's the most vengeful act ever taken.

* * *

_They're lucky they didn't lose any limbs or have their faces mutilated in the arena – not because of the physical disfigurement and psychological effects, but because it means that their victory interview can be held just a day after their removal from the arena. Never mind the mental and emotional trauma they've just lived through. Never mind that they're both still in the mindset that the other one must die in order to be safe themselves._

_ There is no empathy in the Capitol. No mercy or comfort. There is only entertainment, and the Capitol citizens demand it._

_ Her prep team dresses her in a light, frilly number that Cinna has designed to capture her feminine, innocent and harmless nature. They're not happy with her, Haymitch has warned her. She was a target from the moment she volunteered, but Peeta's profession of love and unexpected martyrdom coupled with her stunt with the berries and tribute to Rue have garnered an unwanted reaction from audiences across Panem. People are beginning to think that the Games can be defeated. That if a little wisp of a girl from 12 can show up the Capitol, there's no telling what hundreds of thousands of them could do together._

_ And that's dangerous. That's very, very dangerous._

_ Backstage before the interview is the first time she sets sights on her victory partner. With a fresh shower and clean, dressy clothing, he looks very different from how she remembers him, but no less threatening. Those icy blue eyes cut through her like a knife, violent and jarring, and she fears him even when he looks away and focuses on the instructions relayed by his mentor. _

_ Beside him onstage is even worse, for they must link hands upon entering and raise them in triumph. He is rigid and cold and so very, very tense. Peeta might comfort her, if it was him instead of Cato. He might whisper reassuring words to her and give her hand a squeeze. And she wouldn't worry with him, for he was so good with words that he would have the Capitol wrapped around his finger. _

_ Cato, she's not so sure about. His aim was, and still is, to be the sole victor. Given the chance, he can throw her under the bus. Declare her treasonous. He has no reason not to._

_ Despite the imminent danger of her exposure, Katniss lights up when Caesar asks her questions, doing exactly as Haymitch instructed: everything she did, she did to get home to her sister. Pulling out the berries to commit suicide is another story, but to her surprise, Caesar doesn't mention it. It seems that it's something the Capitol is trying to make everyone forget. _

_ "Cato, I think we'd all like to dive into your mind for a few minutes tonight," Caesar says at another point. "What were you thinking in the moments after Clove's death, when you threw the parcel from your district back into the Cornucopia?"_

_ She's glad he asked – she wants to know, too. _

_ Cato has an answer for everything, and when he speaks with flowing ease, she suspects his mentor may have told him to expect this. "I _wasn't _thinking," he admits. "I let my emotions get the best of me. It's hard not to, with so many things happening in the arena…"_

_ "Of course, of course," Caesar agrees with a nod of faux-sympathy._

_ "… but I'm worse than most. I'm impulsive. It's what we worked on in training in the days leading up to the Games. Guess it didn't help much."_

_ The audience laughs. On their cue, Katniss laughs, too, as if the whole thing is a jolly affair. But she's suspicious. Curious, even. Cato certainly had an anger problem and was driven by emotion, but impulsive was not what she saw in him. She felt a more calculated frigidity in his presence._

_ "And how did you feel – the both of you – when you learned that you had both won the Games?" Caesar asks, leaning forward and staring at them imploringly._

_ They exchange a glance, though their eyes communicate nothing to one another. It's merely for show. Even if he's trying to tell her something, she can't read him. He's indiscernible._

_ "Relieved," Katniss says, though her tendons are stiff with tension to be so close to him._

_ "Grateful," Cato adds, though his hands flex as if they're aching to be wrapped around her neck._

_ "It was very kind," Katniss finishes, "for the Capitol to show such mercy."_

_ It's what they told her to say, and she complies because Haymitch's warnings have unnerved her. Cato nods in agreement, and she wonders what could have frightened the frightening one._

_ She doesn't know why there are two. There has always been just one. It could have been her. _

_Whatever the reason, she knows with absolute certainty that it is a far, far cry from mercy._

* * *

"You had a phone call last night," her mother says to her after she wakes in the middle of the afternoon, tears dried and crusted on her cheeks. With a disapproving eye, she adds, "And this morning."

She frowns. Only the most privileged in the district possess a phone, and Katniss makes a point to avoid all of them, except possibly Madge. Who would phone her?

She doesn't have to wait long to find out, for the caller tries again just before supper.

"Hello?" she asks into the receiver, hating how cold it feels against her ear.

"Katniss," says the voice, deep and knowing. She recognizes it instantly: it's Cato on the other end of the line. Cato, whom she hasn't spoken to since they met on the roof of the Training Center. He's much calmer now than he was that night, much less insane as he states, "You're going back in there."

If there's any reason to go crazy, this is it, and she resents him for the even tones of his voice. "Thank you for the quick math," she snaps. "I hadn't quite gotten there yet."

He ignores her sarcasm, huffing in exasperation. "Is it true?" he asks after a long pause. "Are you pregnant?"

With the phone held to her ear, she makes him wait a long time, toiling over her response. Absently, her free hand runs over her stomach, the small bump hard under her touch.

"Tell me, Katniss. I deserve to know."

She drags her teeth over her lower lip. "Yes," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

It doesn't matter. He's heard her, loud and clear.

A curse flies from his mouth, uttered under his breath and filled with rage.

"I think I should count for two tributes, don't you?"

Even though he's so far away, she can imagine his wild blue eyes fixating on her with intensity. "This isn't funny, Katniss."

"No," she agrees quietly. "It isn't."

Snow didn't tell him about the pregnancy, she realizes. The president kept him cruelly in the dark about his own child. The entire time Katniss lived in fear of uprisings and birth and the loss of Gale's respect and friendship, Cato lived in fear that he had failed. That any moment, his family would be stolen from him.

There's nothing to say to each other after that, so they hang up the phone with stiff goodbyes. She wonders if it matters – if, instead of Caia's death, he might once have a nightmare about their baby entering the arena.

Probably not.

The baby was not meant to be loved or wanted. It was meant to be sacrificed.

_You're a fool, Katniss Everdeen. A fool for thinking anything could ever be saved when it was so clearly bent for destruction._


	2. pour toi

_Hey guys. First of all, just want to say THANK YOU so much for your support on the first part of this story. Your favourites, follows, and most of all your thoughtful reviews are what kept me going while writing this chapter... which, as you'll see, is beastly in size. Couldn't have done it without you._

_With that said, I do apologize for the length of this one. At one point I thought of splitting it up, but I know that everything contained in Part II fits best in Part II, so it all stayed here. If you have to read it over a series of hours, or days, or weeks, you can do that... I realize there's a LOT to take in at once! Make yourself a cup of tea or grab a snack before you settle in._

_Also, of course many of the ideas, characters, and events below were originally created by Suzanne Collins. This is my interpretation of how things may have gone in the arena if the circumstances were altered... so, as you'll see, some things remain the same, and some things change. Part III will obviously diverge further._

_I'm so sorry for the wait in getting this up, but hopefully I've given you enough to read for a while! I'm going to start on Part III, and I thank you in advance for your patience. I wish I could say it will be up shortly, but I have to organize all my floating ideas and write thousands of words in coherent fashion, so I know it will take a while. But don't despair - I don't give up on stories :) _

_Thanks again and hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The Wild Ones.  
**Part II: No Love in the Arena  
****(another life to lose)**

In the month between the announcement of the Quarter Quell and the reaping, Katniss doesn't hunt. Not only because the electric fence bordering the district from the wilderness is alive twenty-four hours of the day or because the woods reminds her of Gale, but also because her body is sluggish and worn and dysfunctional. One moment, she feels just fine – the next, she's doubled over a toilet. "Morning sickness" is a relative term, she discovers, for she finds she's prone to random bouts of nausea interspersed throughout the day and night.

A combination of pregnancy, nerves, and hatred, she suspects. Hatred for the child who will weigh her down as she kills the both of them in the arena. Hatred for Cato for putting it there, and hatred for Snow for decreeing it.

She doesn't hunt, but she still needs something to do, otherwise she'll go crazy. So she stops by Peeta's bakery each day to purchase fresh loaves of bread, always leaving extra coins in the tip jar for his family, and she takes the bread and a few slabs of meat to Gale's house. She's glad he's never home when she delivers, for he'd never allow it – but without the woods, his family will go hungry if not for her. And they made a promise to each other long ago that they'd never sit idly by while the other's family starved.

In her distracted and tortured state of mind, she forgets it's Sunday as she makes yet another trip to the Hawthornes' shabby house in the Seam. Hazelle, Gale's mother, opens the door with a warm smile and beckons her inside. She's about to accept the offer to say hello to the boys and Posy, but Gale's steadfast stare in the hallway stops her in her tracks.

"It's all right," she says, declining the invitation with a shy smile. "I should be getting home."

She wonders, then, if Gale has told his family about her pregnancy. Around the district, Katniss wears her usual hunting jacket and avoids tight-fitting clothing from the Capitol. At just four months, her belly isn't all that big – it can be chalked up to extra helpings of richer food.

But if Hazelle knew… if Vick and Rory knew… she can't even finish the thought, burning with embarrassment. They'd think it was Gale's, and that's unbearable. Or he'd tell them who the baby really belonged to, and it would be even worse.

"Are you sure?" Hazelle asks, looking over her shoulder at Gale. She must sense that there's something between them, because her voice fades as she continues, "It's still light outside…"

Katniss forces a smile, assuring her she must be going. "I'll be back tomorrow," she says quietly to the woman.

She is the one who pulls the wooden door shut and hurries down the steps, placing the backs of her cool hands against her flaming cheeks. She curses herself for letting the day of the week slip her mind. She should have remembered to deliver a larger helping yesterday to avoid dropping by today.

The door shuts again behind her as she makes her way down the walk. Katniss looks over her shoulder to make sure it hasn't blown open.

Gale stands there on the stoop, his grey eyes cloudier than ever. At a loss for words, Katniss licks her lips and avoids his gaze.

"I thought I told you we didn't need charity," he says firmly.

He walks down the steps as she shakes her head, annoyed by his stubbornness. "That's not charity, Gale, it's family." Gaining the courage to meet his eyes, she continues, "And we promised each other that—"

She doesn't finish. He envelops her in his arms, holding her head tightly against him. Her voice chokes in her throat, and she moulds instantly to his touch, burrowing her face in his chest and inhaling his musky scent. It almost scares her, how much she misses him even when he's right here holding her.

"I know," he says, his lips brushing her ear. He strokes her hair and she shuts her eyes, listening to the reverberations in his chest as he speaks. "I know, Katniss. I'm not mad. I only wish I didn't owe you so much."

"You don't owe me anything," she says, her voice muffled in his collar.

He pulls away from her, his hand still in her hair. Holding her gaze, he says in a low voice, "I'll run with you, Katniss. We should have gone a year ago, but we can go now. It's not too late."

With a pained expression, she whispers, "What about Prim?"

"We'll take her. And my family. Even Haymitch, if you want." Despite his sober expression, he manages a chuckle at that.

His willingness and unwavering determination makes her eyes water, for he was once so eager to stay behind and fight the fight. She finds herself collapsing under his gaze, so she looks down. He does, too, and the slight bulge in her belly is what sits between them.

"I thought you hated me," she says.

He fists her braid tighter, resting his forehead against hers. "No, Catnip. I hate _him_ for doing this to you. And I hate Snow for forcing you into it. But if it…" he trails off. Sighs. "I just thought that if I ever saw you like this, it would be because of me. It would be mine."

She squeezes her eyes shut to contain her tears. If only she'd known why Snow had demanded a pregnancy, she'd never have agreed. But if it was Gale's child in her womb, entering the arena for a second time would surely be the worst torture yet.

"It doesn't matter," he says, bitterness lacing his words. "I just want you safe. I want all of us safe. We can run. Tonight."

Katniss' first thought is that Prim would never survive the woods. She's too delicate and sheltered, and not even a hungry life in the Seam has changed that. But it's true that she's changed in the past year, ever since Katniss entered the arena. She's grown stronger. Harder. Sometimes, Katniss wonders if she possesses more bravery than herself or her mother. No longer does she need to be cuddled or reassured – in fact, just last week after the Quarter Quell announcement, she brought Katniss a cup of hot tea and laid Katniss' head in her lap as she cried.

"Catnip?" Gale asks gently.

Her eyes find his.

"What do you say?"

They could do it, perhaps. All of them, even Haymitch. Giving birth in the wild terrifies her, but with her mother by her side, she could do it. And then she would have the baby all to herself, and it would be free from harm, growing up in a place where it could be safe and loved and free… and where it would never know its father.

Cato.

If she ran, his family would die. Or perhaps they would live, Caia in her wheelchair strapped forever under Rufus' tyrannical roof.

"It's too late," she cracks, shaking her head. _I know them now. _

"It's not," he insists. "We have a month. We could get so far; hide ourselves so well… they'd never find us."

"No," she says, continuing to shake her head. "We can't."

"Why?" he asks. When she doesn't reply, he grimaces. "Catnip, I want nothing more than to see the Capitol burn. I want to light the flames with my own hands. I want to_ fight_. But I would give that up. I'd leave it all behind for you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Please," he breathes, his lips dangerously close to hers. "Ask me."

The tears blur her vision now, but she won't let them spill. "I can't run," she says, suppressing a sob. She disengages herself from his grasp and backs away.

He straightens, raising his chin as his hands fall loosely at his sides. "Why?"

All she can say as she continues to distance herself is, "I can't."

She hurries away, leaving him far behind her with fury and exasperation. Guilt crunches under her feet with every step, but she swallows it. Gale will be fine. Even when she's gone, Prim will feed him and his family. They will all be okay – better off, in fact, without her putting them in imminent danger.

Once she is reaped, she can put them all safely behind her. Nothing she does on the train or beyond can hurt them.

Odds are, she won't make it out of the arena a second time.

* * *

At Prim's insistence, she and Haymitch begin to train. It's illegal, as it is in all the districts, but she figures they're both at such a remarkable disadvantage – his bodied wasted from years of drinking, hers swelling and morphing in pregnancy – that it won't matter. She's right about that. They do most of their training in and around the quiet Victor's Village, and if anyone catches them, they don't say a word.

Her mother won't let her run very far, but she does take long, brisk walks when she can to build endurance. She's not supposed to lift weights to strain her back, but she lifts light ones anyway. She knows that however she tones her body now, it will mostly be undone by the time she enters the arena, as she grows and changes every day. So while Haymitch runs circles around the Victor's Village, sweat pouring down his forehead and curses flying this way and that from his lips, she focuses on things like spears, knives, and plants. Prim purchases some materials from around the district and studies them herself, trying to learn about explosives and knots. She even produces a full set of paints one day so that they can pick up the art of camouflage.

Katniss stays away from the paints. She's no good with art, and it only reminds her of Peeta. Besides, pregnant or not, she is the hunter, not the prey.

It takes a couple of weeks for his anger to level off, but Gale learns of their training from Vick and Rory and joins them on Sundays to teach them about snares. Not only useful in securing a meal, but for trapping an enemy, too. Katniss knows that well enough – it's how Rue was killed.

While Prim is more patient, Gale is frustrated with the pair quite often, for Katniss can only do something for so long before her back begins to ache or she's winded and Haymitch's hands are unsteady and his lips are loose. She appreciates Gale's efforts and is beyond relieved that he's dedicated to helping them, but the more agitated he becomes, the more she's certain that they'll both be dead within minutes of the gong's hallowed ring.

The three of them, that is. Herself, Haymitch, and the baby. It's odd thinking of herself as two now – eating for two, sleeping for two, training for two. She tries not to think about it as much as she can, but she finds that every aspect of her life is affected by pregnancy. She is completely changed, and for that, she hates her baby more and more each day. For reducing her to this state. For ruining her relationship with Gale. For preventing her from jumping ship and running into the woods.

"What are we gonna do, Haymitch?" she asks him as they sit, exhausted, on his sofa. She can tell he's dying for a drink, but Prim has forbidden it. Her laws are enforced by Hazelle, his housekeeper, and Ripper, who sells the stuff in town.

"Form alliances," he suggests, "and hope they don't turn on us."

"Of course they will," she says. "They're victors."

"So are we," he points out.

"And look at us," she says, managing a dry chuckle. "Barely able to move after a few weeks of training."

"Well, sweetheart," he begins, slapping his knee, "you and I both know that whoever wins these Games is gonna wish they didn't."

She sighs unhappily.

"But between you and me, I'm betting on you."

She rolls her head on the couch until he comes into view. "Look at me. I'm pregnant."

"Not _that_ pregnant," he scoffs. "You're young and strong. You have two to live for, now, and we can't give them the satisfaction of taking more lives than necessary in that hellhole."

"You know that's exactly why this Quell was designed."

"No, damnit," he mutters. "Katniss, think of all the people who will be waiting for you to get out of there."

She shakes her head, tearing up again. The pregnancy makes her overemotional to begin with, and added with the impending death of herself and Haymitch, she's a walking waterfall. "I can't come back without you," she says in a whisper.

"That's what you said about Peeta," Haymitch points out. "You said it would be unliveable. But here you are – living."

"Don't talk about him."

"All right," he grumbles. "But he'd want it to be you, too. I know it."

There's no way of verifying that information, and she finds herself doubting Haymitch. It doesn't matter. Either way, she'll die without repaying her debt to the boy with the bread.

And that in itself is unliveable.

* * *

The Reaping is absolutely silly.

Everyone knows there is one male and one female victor from 12, yet the Capitol requires they go through the ceremony to rub salt into the wound. Effie Trinket wears a wild velvet ensemble and takes things very seriously, her hand dipping around the two glass bowls, each of which possesses only one slip of paper. One name.

They are called to stage, presented as tributes of the third Quarter Quell, and Katniss is surprised when the crowd gasps. Did they really not see this coming?  
It's only when they're ushered into the Justice Building that Effie gives her a sympathetic smile, glancing down at her belly. "You look just beautiful today, Katniss," she says, her eyes grazing up and down. Katniss frowns, uncomfortable by the unusual comment from her outlandish district escort. "Your mother did a lovely job on your hair. So much better than that awful chunky braid you're so partial to."

And then she catches sight of herself in the reflection of a glass window, realizing that the dress she's worn is tighter than her usual hunting and training attire. Or perhaps she is simply bigger around the waist. Likely, both.

The gasps of the crowd suddenly make sense. Without any words at all, she has just announced that she is pregnant. She's become so accustomed to the slight bulge in her belly that she's forgotten that no one else knows.

Before she can process what she's done and how the news will be received, she's ushered straight onto the train behind Haymitch.

"But my mother and—"

"No visitors," the peacekeeper interrupts her.

The door slams shut, and they are off.

* * *

It might be better this way, she reasons as the train glides through the district. There was no more to say to her mother and Prim. They'd said their goodbyes a thousand times over; they have their instructions on how to carry on without her. And as for Gale… well, she's not sure she could have handled another moment alone with him. She shuts her eyes at the thought of his indignation when he's told he can't get in to see her. That she's already gone.

He might bring about the rebellion early with that kind of news.

The Reapings are held at varying times throughout the day based on district number, so as the last district, they only have an hour or so on the train before the recaps of the day begin. A lavish feast is prepared, though Katniss can only stomach a few bites, and then she sits in front of the blank television with her mind whirling while Haymitch gives Effie some advice on how to garner sponsors. Now that they're both going into the arena, Effie has twice the work – district escort _and_ mentor. It's clear that the position of escort comes first to her, but she does try to pay attention to Haymitch's instructions.

Finally, they join her on the sofa and Caesar Flickerman appears onscreen, ready to kick off "the most exciting Hunger Games yet." Katniss breathes in deeply and Effie retrieves a notepad and pen, prepared to write down the names of all the tributes so that they can watch key points of their Games later on.

From District 1 comes a beautiful, leggy, fair-haired creature whom Katniss recognizes as Cashmere. She watched Cashmere's Games when she was younger, and the woman certainly knew how to manipulate her sexuality to seduce the other tributes – but it was her killer's finesse that won her the Games. Right after her, an almost-identical male is reaped: her brother, Gloss, who won the year following.

"Of course," Haymitch says under his breath. "Can't have one without the other."

This will be worse for him than for her, Katniss realizes. He knows all of the tributes as mentors and fellow victors. Some of them are undoubtedly his friends. How can he bear to watch it?  
From District 2 is reaped a muscular woman with fangs – genuine fangs. Enobaria, Haymitch informs her, who ripped out the throat of the last tribute in her Games and then had her teeth surgically altered to reflect her greatest triumph. Instantly, Katniss has a flash vision of sharp teeth ripping into her stomach. Eating her baby. A fresh wave of fear consumes her.

But it's nothing compared to what happens next. As a wealthy district with close ties to the Capitol, District 2 has a fairly large pool of victors, most of whom probably volunteered for their Games. Raynor, the district escort, selects a name from the glass bowl and declares it to the crowd. There is cheering and applause, as there always is in the districts who see the Games as an honour. And then, a voice breaks through the noise, volunteering as tribute. Brutus, a bloodthirsty hulk of a man, steps out from the roped area and steps toward the platform. The district begins to hoot.

But he never makes it, not even to the stairs. No one could be more prepared for the Games than Brutus, who looks as though he's been training his whole life for this, but it's a blond-haired boy with frozen blue eyes who grabs a hold of his arm, catches his attention, and sends him back to the roped area after an exchange of words that even the cameras can't catch.

District 2 goes absolutely wild, yet the train could not be more silent. _Cato_. Cato steps onto the stage, shakes hands with Enobaria, and seals his fate as tribute.

"Well, would you look at that," remarks Caesar Flickerman when the scene pans. "In one of the more touching Reaping ceremonies of the day, a young Cato Embry, not even out of the arena for a year, volunteers to represent his district in the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games. Panem is certainly awaiting what promises to be an emotional reunion between the young tribute and his fiancée, one Miss Katniss Everdeen. What a tragic story. Who knew it would come to this?"

_Snow did_, Katniss wants to spit. Beside her, she can tell that Haymitch is thinking the same.

They move onto District 3, but Katniss is still stuck on Cato. She has to disagree with Caesar – he didn't volunteer for a tearful reunion. Cato volunteered to claim, once and for all, what he feels should be rightfully his and his alone: victory. If he couldn't get out of his own Games by himself, he's certainly planning on it this time. As victor of the victors, he'll bring home the most glory District 2 has ever seen, and without Katniss dragging him down, he'll get to reap the benefits of a true, lone victor.

Finnick Odair from 4 is reaped in all his bronzed beauty. If anyone is a threat to Cato's victory, it's him. Katniss imagines that Cato would be a lot like Finnick Odair, if given the chance – a dozen Capitol women ravishing his bed per visit and the rest of his time spent at elite parties and photo shoots for vapid Capitol products and businesses.

He acted with much more ease than she on their Victory Tour, but still, it's hard to imagine Cato turning on the charm like Finnick.

The Reapings continue. Katniss is silent throughout, her eyes fixated to the screen but mind elsewhere. It's bad enough to be going into the arena again, and a thousand times worse to be thrown in pregnant. But to enter a second time with _him_… she trembles at the thought. He won't want to hunt her this time; he'll want to make a beeline for her at the Cornucopia and get it over with. And then it will be done. Vengeance within the first thirty seconds of the Games.

When District 12's Reaping is broadcast, the collective gasp amongst the crowd is just as loud as it was in person. To cement the grandiosity of the moment, Caesar Flickerman acts absolutely overwhelmed with emotion, wiping fake tears from his eyes and proclaiming her pregnancy "just devastating."

But within a few seconds, he's back to his usual perpetually-smiling self.

Katniss, on the other hand, doubts she'll ever smile again.

* * *

They arrive in the Capitol in mid-morning. It's just as bright and shimmering as she remembers, and though Katniss is no less impressed by its grandeur, she also finds that she is already sick of it. They take the elevator of the Training Center to the twelfth floor, thoughtful silences passing between herself, Haymitch and Effie. She knows that Effie is dreading the role of district escort_ and_ mentor, for the latter is the less glamorous of the two and a lot more work. Haymitch is certainly not looking forward to reuniting with his old friends who are now sentenced to another jaunt in the arena.

As for Katniss, there are a lot of things that she dreads; a number of reasons to be bitter. And one of those reasons is sitting on the edge of her bed in the penthouse of the Training Center.

He's bent over and propping his elbows up on his knees. When she enters and unceremoniously drops her small duffel on the floor, he sits up with a start. His eyes are a reflective blue today, sort of how she remembers the waves in the ocean in District 4. As they graze her from head to toe, lingering around the small but noticeable bump in her middle, they darken to a murky ultramarine.

"How did you get in here?" she asks without a fraction of sympathy.

"I got here yesterday," he replies. "Wasn't hard to sneak up this morning."

_They probably expected him to, what with the engagement and baby_, Katniss reminds herself. Absently, she twirls the ring on her finger.

"Why would you want to?" she demands.

Cato's eyes narrow. "Why do you think?"

He seems to have bulked up again, and she bristles at the thought of how easy it would be for those biceps to squeeze the life out of a human being.

"To remind me of my upcoming death, perhaps?" she suggests, surprised at being able to say so in even tones.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes drawn back to her belly. "You really think I'd get sponsors if I hacked my fiancée and unborn child to death?"

Katniss opens her mouth to respond, stopping herself when she realizes his point. If he kills her, there's sure to be backlash. She failed to consider that.

"Then why _did_ you volunteer, if not for revenge?"

He shakes his head. "Revenge. You really think this is about revenge? They may teach us how to turn off our emotions and kill without mercy in training, but they teach honour, too. You had the chance to kill me last year, but you didn't."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "I was told to lower my weapon."

"I wouldn't have listened," Cato brushes her off. "But you did. You showed me mercy. How could I kill you before showing you the same?"

"At this point, killing me _would_ be mercy."

He leans forward again, his eyes running unashamedly over her. Then he shakes his head, hanging it over his knees.

"I didn't know," he croaks. "They never told me that when we did this, it would be… it would be… did they tell you?"

"Of course not," she snaps, insulted that he would even dare to ask her if she had known that she would be reaped a second time, baby in tow.

"If I had known, I wouldn't have," he says, cutting himself off. "I would have said no."

Katniss crosses the room, sitting on the edge of the bed only a few feet from him. He doesn't look up as the bed shifts underneath. "So would I," Katniss agrees quietly.

He runs his hands through his hair, linking them at the back of his neck. "What do we do?"

With one hand on her stomach, she stares at the dresser ahead and says, "I don't know. I still don't know why you're here."

Cato looks over at her. She calmly meets his piercing eyes.

"I just wanted to see you," he says quietly. He doesn't elaborate further.

With a breath, Katniss looks down at her stomach. "Would this – this very Quarter Quell – have happened if it weren't for you and me? Is it our fault?"

"More your fault than mine," he mutters, and she can't argue with him there.

"You must hate me for winning," she muses. "For being the cause of all this."

"I want to," he says candidly. "I was sure I did, until you walked in here and I…" He stumbles over his own words, squeezing his eyes shut as he shakes his head in anger. "What have I done to you?" His voice cracks, and the grief and regret it exudes tugs ever so slightly on her wounded heart.

"Nothing you weren't forced to do."

He rises from the bed, furious with himself. With his hands balled into fists, Katniss is momentarily afraid he'll have another episode with the wall.

There's a knock on the door, and before the intruder can declare herself, Effie pokes her head in. "Lunch is ready!" she announces, immediately spotting Katniss on the bed. Her eyes are then drawn to Cato, who paces the floor in front of the dresser. "Oh!" she exclaims, placing a hand over her heart. "Cato! It's very nice to see you, but you shouldn't be here – this floor is for District 12!" She opens the door wider and begins to shoo him with her hand. "Out, out, out you go!"

Cato is reluctant to leave, but knows it's a waste of time to argue with an excitable Effie Trinket. Instead, he rolls his eyes and looks to Katniss.

"I'll see you at the tribute parade," he says. He has one foot out the door when he thinks of something else, looking over his shoulder to add, "Don't trust the others."

He leaves without another word. Effie keeps the door open for Katniss to join her for lunch. She taps her toes impatiently, struggling to keep the smile on her face. Meanwhile, Katniss is baffled by Cato's bursting reappearance into her life. There is so much she doesn't understand about him. So much that remains a maddening mystery.

"It's one thing to starve yourself, but the baby deserves a meal," Effie says. Katniss holds back a biting reply – Effie is harmless even at her snippiest.

Cato, on the other hand, is a different story, and she mustn't forget it when entering the arena.

* * *

Haymitch looks rather silly in his black unitard costume for the Entrance Ceremony, but Katniss isn't much in the mood for laughing. Besides, although Cinna attempted to convince her otherwise, she's betting that she looks just as ridiculous – the spandex clothing clings to the small but noticeable bump in her belly.

"What did Odair have to say for himself?" Haymitch asks her as he approaches their chariot. Finnick, the bronzed, seductive beauty from District 4, had paid her a most curious visit. Just to say hello, it seemed – but Katniss is certain there were ulterior motives behind his dazzling sea green eyes.

"He offered me sugar cubes," Katniss replies, shaking her head at the befuddling memory. She turns her attention to ones of the geldings leading their chariot. "Whatever else he was selling, I wasn't buying – but I should have said yes to sugar."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "I'd say yes to rubbing alcohol if it would get me drunk." Before Katniss can reprimand his alcoholism, he adds a quick, "Oh, there's Chaff." Then he's gone.

Having been a tribute in the last Quarter Quell, Haymitch has mentored for a solid twenty-four years. He knows every tribute inside and out – not just as a friend and fellow mentor, but also as a competitor in the Games. It's a huge advantage, and even if he's physically unfit, it relieves her to know that someone with brains is her ally.

The horse shuts his eyes, whinnying softly as she rubs his long nose. She doesn't dare look up, for she knows the other tributes are eyeing her up and down, sizing her up and determining just how easy it will be to kill her in her pregnant state. They're all friends. They've all known each other for years. And she is the newcomer – the outsider.

She'll be dead within minutes, just as Snow intended. She _and_ the baby.

From across the Training Center in casual conversation with the platinum blond brother-sister duo from 1 who look more like dolls than real people, Cato's icy stare elicits an involuntary shiver from Katniss.

It's odd, she thinks, to_ feel_ a stare. But somehow, the anger that burns in Cato's eyes is what makes him seem most alive.

* * *

Cato finds her after the Tribute Parade. He doesn't bother removing his costume beforehand, so he stands before her as a knight, complete with clanking armour, swords in his belt, and a ridiculous red feather sticking out of his helmet. As the masonry district, 2 is technically showing off its steel – however, Nerissa, Cato's stylist, is much cleverer than that, appealing to the fact that District 2 also fashions weapons and by portraying Cato as a noble warrior to appeal to sponsors.

Cinna has been helping her put out the glowing embers on her black unitard, but he steps aside as Cato approaches.

She wishes he had stayed, for Cato doesn't seem to have much to say and she notes the heightened interest amongst the tributes, their stylists and mentors backstage.

"They all want to kill me," she says with a huff. "You might have some competition in the arena."

"I'll have competition," he agrees, "though not over that. Nobody knows what to make of you. Us, for that matter."

"Us?"

"You, pregnant," he says, gesturing to her middle. "Me, volunteering after only a year basking in victory. People don't know how to feel about that. Except for Brutus, who's pissed beyond reason. He would have done anything to go back into the arena."

Katniss begins to remove the multitude of pins in her hair. "Why _did_ you volunteer?" she asks again, hoping for a straightforward admission this time.

Cato lifts off his headpiece, running a hand through his flat hair and mussing it up. "Maybe because they didn't expect me to," he answers. Something tells her he's not being altogether candid. He tucks his headpiece under his arm, adding quietly, "Or maybe because they did."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Cato glances both ways before taking a step towards her, and she must lift her chin to meet his eyes.

"You and I both know this was no coincidence," he murmurs, his voice dangerous and dark. "The rules were broken because of us, and now they're going to set things right. We're the example, not the exception. They let us live so they could kill us all over again."

She glares at him, annoyed that he refers to them as a pair. "I'm the one who was sentenced," she points out. "_You_ had a choice."

"I never had a choice, Fire Girl," he replies spitefully. "From the moment you lowered your bow in the arena, my choices belonged to someone else."

"To Snow."

"To _you_," he sneers. "To an underfed girl from the seams of the poorest district who spends her days hunting squirrel and pigeon."

She lowers her hands from her hair, her brows knotted in a frown.

"Do you know what it's like, owing your life to someone?" he asks.

A painful memory surfaces without prompting. A boy with blond hair and keen eyes. A rainy evening. A stomach so empty, it doesn't even have the energy to growl. A loaf of bread, so tempting but so unattainable. The boy's mother curses him for burning it, smacking him on the side of his head and deeming it fit for the pigs. When the mother retreats, the boy stays and watches her. He watches and wonders and weighs, and when he's confident his mother isn't within eyeshot, he throws the bread to her. It feeds her family for a night and renews their dwindled spirit.

"Yes," Katniss replies, her voice hoarse. Cato's eyes soften, clearly not expecting her response. She hardens her gaze, spitting, "And before I got the chance to repay him, you killed the one I owed. As long as I live, I live in debt."

He does not follow her as she backs away. His Adam's apple moves as he swallows and his lips are set in a firm line.

"We're the wild ones, you said. We do what they don't expect." She glances at the other tributes, disengaging themselves from their costumes. "They're going to make sure I die in there. That's the whole point. But if you killed me now, before they had the chance…"

Cato shakes his head subtly, letting his eyes travel to the ground. "I'm not going to kill you, Katniss," he mutters.

"I want you to, if it's come to this," she says, her voice almost pleading. If Gale could hear her now, he'd be furious. Prim, too. "Your debt would be repaid."

"No," he says, blinking as he raises his head. "You don't get to decide to die. Not when another life goes with yours."

Though he hasn't said it aloud, her hand goes to her stomach, protecting the unborn child as she casually discusses her own death. "This life was doomed from the start," she says. "And it's mine to decide."

"Mine, too," says Cato, gently.

She stares at him.

"It's mine too," he repeats, stronger now, holding her gaze with insistence. "Mine to decide, mine to lose. So the next time you ask me why I'm here, Fire Girl, think about that."

Before the meaning fully sinks in and she can find words to respond, he's gone.

* * *

"Get to know everyone," Haymitch tells her before they ride the elevator to the ground floor for the first day of training. Though Effie is technically their 'mentor', Haymitch is the one from whom she'd prefer advice and guidance, and he was suspiciously absent the evening before after the tribute parade. Seemingly flustered, he tries to cover all the bases moments before entering the training room.

"I don't want to get to know everyone," Katniss says, crinkling her nose. "People are easier to kill when they're nameless."

"It's also easier to survive with allies," Haymitch points out. He's quick to add, "But let's not kid ourselves, sweetheart. Nothing about this is going to be easy."

The black training suit with thin red and yellow stripes down the sides doesn't suit Haymitch, and she finds it difficult to look at him. It's hard to grasp that he is now a tribute, too. That he will be fighting for his life just as she will.

"Do as you did last year and spend time at every station," he suggests. "Everyone knows you're an archer, so there's no need to hide your talents this time around, but I'm sure you agree your time is best spent at other stations. Edible plants might be a good place to start."

"I'm good with plants," Katniss replies.

"What they have on display might be an indication of what the arena's going to be like," Haymitch says with a critical arch of an eyebrow. His gaze travels to her belly. "And don't overexert yourself."

Katniss places a hand on her stomach and rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine." Hours of verbal and written instruction from her mother and Prim were enough to endure – she doesn't need cautionary orders from Haymitch, too.

As the elevator halts on the ground floor, Haymitch continues, "It wouldn't hurt to be seen with Cato today, either. Eating lunch, practicing at a station together… anything."

"No," she dismisses without a second thought.

From the way his jaw shifts, she knows he is grinding his teeth to maintain his cool. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," she says loftily. "Because that's only for the cameras, because I don't trust him, and because everyone already knows he did_ this_—" she gestures to her stomach "—to me."

"Damnit, sweetheart," Haymitch grumbles as they step off the elevator, "are you going to argue with everything I say? I've been mentoring tributes longer than you've drawn breath!"

His exasperated eyes demand an answer, but she simply walks past him toward the training room. With a groan, he follows her at a quick pace.

"And how many of your tributes have lived, Haymitch?"

"_You_," he replies, the word shadowed in darkness. When she doesn't stop, he grabs her wrist and turns her around. "You've done it once, and I intend for you to do it again. But for that to happen, you're going to have to listen to me and do as I say."

She yanks her wrist out of his grasp and delivers him a glare. "And what about you?"

For a brief moment, his eyes soften, but he quickly pulls himself out of it and shakes his head. "Enough of that."

"Enough of what?"

He turns her around again, facing her toward the training room. With his hands on her shoulders, he guides her inside. "Start with plants. Talk to as many as you can. Don't ignore Cato. We'll discuss at the end of the day."

"But—"

"Good luck," he says, effectively silencing her protests.

The training room seems larger than it did last year – perhaps because only about half of the tributes are present. Haymitch's hands fall from her shoulders as he makes his way over to the tributes from 6 – sunken-in, yellowish creatures who subsist on Morphling alone – whom he greets with handshakes. Katniss stands by herself as they crowd in a circle around Atala, the head trainer. She begins the session without waiting for the rest of the tributes to make an appearance.

Katniss assesses the tributes in the room, all within close quarters for the first time. When she spots Cato standing next to the fanged female tribute from his district, she realizes that his eyes have already found her. His unabashed and hardened gaze is unsettling, and her blood runs cold in her veins as she is reminded of his violence and fury the last time they entered the arena.

Ignoring him will not be easy. It hits her then, loud and clear. Every time he is around, she is acutely aware of his presence. From now until the moment of her death in the arena, she will always want to get inside his mind, to know where he is and what he is doing so that she can prepare to react.

Snow was right: Cato is wild. And as one must when in a cage with a lion, she must always be ready to run or fight.

* * *

The morning is spent at the plant station, as Haymitch suggested, followed by the knot-tying station. After studying so many of their Games, Katniss is familiar with most of the tributes' strengths and skills, but finds she knows little about them as people. She intends to keep it that way, but is pleasantly surprised that Beetee and Wiress from 3 are so agreeable – and intelligent, too, proven when Beetee points out the force field surrounding the gamemakers who watch them from the sidelines. Katniss never would have noticed the faint blurriness surrounding the observers, signalling waves of electricity. From Mags, District 4's female tribute, the oldest surviving Hunger Games victor and Finnick Odair's partner, Katniss finds herself fascinated by how quickly a hook can be fashioned. As she attempts to imitate the elderly woman's skill, she catches Haymitch shaking his head at her from across the floor where he's at the knife-throwing station with Chaff, a victor who lost his hand in the Games. His disapproval annoys her, but not as much as she's unnerved by Cato's watchful eye that follows her like a hawk.

She intends to avoid him, same as last year's training sessions, but lunch, instead of a private respite, turns into a maddeningly social affair. Having known each other for years, the tributes gather at one long table with their trays and chat amiably as old friends. Katniss would rather not be a part of it, but Haymitch's warning glare keeps her from isolating herself in a corner. When Cato slides on the bench beside her, she silently damns her mentor. Haymitch orchestrated this; she's sure of it.

"Made some friends?" he asks gruffly.

"No," she replies, her tone airy and neutral. When he arches an eyebrow, she elaborates quietly, "I've never been very good at that."

A breath of laughter escapes him. "You're a hard nut to crack," he says, his voice low in her ear. A shiver races from her head to her toes. "Might be a good thing around here."

Out of the corner of her eye, she gives him a suspicious glance. "How about you? I see you've made an alliance with the Careers already."

In reality, Katniss isn't quite sure about Finnick Odair, but Cashmere and Gloss from 1 along with Enobaria from 2 are certainly gung-ho to form another Career pack. Cato spent most of the morning with them.

"Nothing's definite," he replies. "But why wouldn't I? They're young and strong. Best allies you could have."

"Not to me," she counters, eyes on her plate.

"Yes, to you," he corrects her, taking a bite of a pickle. "When the most dangerous players are on your side, you have more protection and fewer threats to your survival."

She's eager to eavesdrop on what the other tributes are laughing and joking about, so she cuts him off, her grey eyes smouldering as they meet his icy blues. "I got an eleven in training last year," she points out. "I'm dangerous, myself – and I don't intend to join the Careers."

The flare in his eyes is obvious, but she shows him the back of her head in response.

After lunch, she spends nearly an hour at the camouflage station, where the two tributes from 6 – the Morphlings, as she mentally refers to them – paint their bodies and silently teach her how to decorate her own. Katniss doesn't much care for camouflage this time around, but she remains at the station because it's a quiet and non-physical activity.

Next, she ventures over to snares, thinking regretfully of Gale. He creeps inch by inch into her mind until his face is all she can see. At first, it's all the time he spent with her and Haymitch in the past month, teaching them what he knew of snares and survival. But as she works, mimicking some of the more complicated snares he'd taught her, her head floods with scattered moments, and she winces internally at their sting. Things they did together, things he's doing now… things he'll do without her when she's gone. Things that will never be.

She's almost grateful when Cato appears again. Enobaria, his district partner, travels with him, and he introduces them to one another and leaves them be. His intentions baffle her, but Enobaria's do not: the sharp-toothed tribute regards her with disdain and is cordial but brusque. It's clear she has no intentions of including Katniss in her Career alliance, and that's just fine with Katniss, who finds it difficult to look at the woman without imagining her feasting on another human's flesh.

Cato is unhappy when she and Enobaria eagerly part ways, but Katniss can't find a reason to care. She's exhausted from making nice with the people she'll soon have to kill – or who may very well kill her – and there's only one station to visit that will allow her to clear her mind.

Archery.

The trainer is delighted to have a visitor, but grows bored quickly when he realizes that Katniss can hit the stationary targets with ease. He produces a handful of small, plastic birds and throws them into the air for her to hit. They make a game of it, and after a while, Katniss finds herself smiling, lost in the only thing that's familiar to her. When she successfully knocks out five birds in a single throw, she realizes the training area has hushed. Turning around to face her competitors, her cheeks flame with embarrassment at the scores of beady eyes on her. Watching her. Understanding that, even five months' pregnant, she is a threat.

Haymitch is going to kill her.

So is Cato, apparently, and she stiffens as he approaches her as the tributes mill out of the training room at the end of the day.

"You're good," he tells her. She glares. Unaffected, he shrugs nonchalantly. "Better than good," he offers. As an afterthought, he's sure to mention, "But Fire Girl – I wouldn't give you an eleven."

* * *

The victors are beloved by the Capitol, there's no doubt about that. Normally, tributes are quarantined from the cameras during the training until their scores are revealed to the public, but Quarter Quells are an exception. President Snow, it seems, wants to make this year's Games especially memorable. On the last day of training, a gala is organized within the Training Center. A small portion of the stadium is walled and decorated for a grand televised celebration, with some of the Capitol's most notable in attendance – including Snow.

Katniss wants no part in the event, but Haymitch threatens to throw her over his shoulder and lug her there if he has to. Sponsors, he always says, can be the difference between life and death, and he won't allow her to waste the opportunity to secure one or more.

"I don't want to mingle with Capitol elites," Katniss complains. "I don't want my stomach to be scrutinized and I don't want to answer their shallow questions about my pregnancy or Cato. I don't want to give them that satisfaction before they cheer for my death."

"The idea, sweetheart, is to have them invested in your_ life_," Haymitch corrects her with a light shove out the door. Surveying her up and down in her emerald green gown, his eyes come to rest on the bump around her middle. "Yours _and_ the little bun in the oven."

She scowls, following him to the elevator and muttering that if he ever refers to her pregnant belly as such again, she'll ensure he's the first to die in the arena.

On the ground floor of the Training Center, the tributes wait in lines by district number, which is how they'll be introduced. Katniss is relieved to be standing at the end of the line without an opportunity to chat with the others. Haymitch and Chaff from 11 slap each other's backs and chat jovially, and somewhere down the line, Katniss spots Cato with Cashmere, the blonde knockout from District 1. His lips are close to her ear as he speaks, his arm grazing hers. After he's said what he has to say, he pulls back, carefully judging her reaction.

Anger boils in Katniss' blood – anger at his presence at the Games, at his fraternizing with those who want to kill her, at the fact that he's speaking to anyone at all. In all the time they spent together, he never did say much to her.

The tributes are announced one district at a time. Haymitch has to remind her of Prim and Gale to get her to fake a smile for the sponsors. She's upset that, for one fleeting moment, she allowed her emotions to get the better of her and forgot that lives still depended on her – but then again, she's never been a competent actress.

The portioned area of the stadium is quite large and dimly lit to establish an evening feel. Cameras attack her from every angle – there will be no such thing as private conversation tonight. Tables draped in royal blue cloth are everywhere – some for mingling, some for serving drinks, and some for something else entirely.

"Do you play cards at all, Miss Everdeen?" a cool voice addresses her from behind. It is not the voice, but the stench that alerts her to whom the voice belongs. A powerful whiff of roses soaked in perfume.

She whirls around to meet the chilling eyes of President Snow. Her stomach lurches, alarmed that he has sought her out first and foremost – the president has never been the bearer of good news, and she worries what fresh, deliciously evil hell he will thrust upon her.

However, he waits patiently for her response, hands linked behind his back.

"Cards?" is all she asks, masking her disgust for the man as best she can.

"Yes," he nods with a slight smile. "Euchre, blackjack, poker... we're quite fond of card games in the Capitol."

Katniss has never heard these words before, but as she scans the stadium, she sees black-gloved men dressed in white blazers at many of the tables, a stack of rectangular cardstock in their hands. _Games_, she thinks. That's all they are.

"I don't like games," Katniss says, squaring her shoulders and placing a defensive hand on her belly. "I don't like them at all."

Snow's eyes twinkle at her response. "That's a great pity," he replies with a smirk. "I happen to find them delightfully entertaining."

It's on the tip of her tongue to lash out at him, to demand her freedom, and to ask why – why all this? But she knows. Power is a great and terrible thing, and it can destroy just as well as it can rule. Snow sits on a pillar of glass, and to ensure his pedestal remains unbroken, fear must be predominant in the ruled. They must fear him more than he fears them.

And they must hate one another. They must snarl and spit and kill while each of them suffers in their own way. Tonight, Panem will watch the tributes interact with one another – amicably, calmly, as old friends. In two days, half of them will be dead by the hands of the other half. What better way to prove that they are truly beasts, that their hearts are savage and cold?

Though she despises him with every breath she takes, Katniss must admit that Snow is rather brilliant.

* * *

An hour into the event, Katniss has grown accustomed to cameras at every turn and the hungry eyes and bizarre outfits of Capitol citizens. She'd relish a few moments alone, but there's no opportunity for that – everyone wants to talk to her. To ask her about Cato, who always seems to be annoyingly lingering nearby, or details of her pregnancy. She has a mind to tell them everything – that it was never hers or Cato's idea, but Snow's command, and he knew all along that he was sending her back into the arena to be slaughtered. But one glance across the room into Snow's watchful eyes informs her that it would not be wise to do so.

She is amongst professionals, Katniss realizes as she spots tributes interspersed throughout the stadium. Everyone appears comfortable mingling or playing cards. At first, she assumes that the other tributes are familiar with card games due to their frequent trips to the Capitol, but she abandons the theory when she spots Cato calling shots at a blackjack table. Her anger for him bubbles again – while he was picking up warrior tricks and learning silly games in District 2, she was barely scraping by in 12. She had no time for games if she wanted to live just one more day.

If only Gale were here. If only she could hear his comforting voice one last time. He'd be just as disgusted as she is with all this extravagance. Frivolities are not looked upon highly in District 12 – not when so many are starving. With a pang in her heart, she admits to herself that she misses Gale. He understands her in a way that no one else ever could… least of all, Cato, whose frozen eyes find hers across the room and then travel down to the ring on her finger.

Katniss turns her head rather quickly and stalks away. Flustered caught off-guard, she doesn't realize she's approached a table until the charming voice of Finnick Odair speaks her name.

"Care to wager, Katniss Everdeen?"

She snaps to attention. Finnick stands behind the table with a deck of cards in his hands. He appears to have replaced the dealer for this particular station – probably through sheer charm.

Finnick notes her curious expression and chuckles. "I prefer to be dealer over player," he explains. "Doling out fates instead of accepting them."

He winks at her, causing her shoulders to tense involuntarily.

"I don't know how to play," Katniss offers blankly.

"It's not hard," says a voice from behind her. Instantly she recognizes its deep tones – Cato. He emerges next to her, resting his forearms on the table. "I can teach you."

Katniss searches for a clever response – anything to tell him off – but nothing comes to mind. Across the stadium, Haymitch is enjoying a loud, drunken game of poker with Chaff and some other Capitol figures. Drunk or not, he would encourage her to be cooperative.

"I don't have anything to wager," she says, turning her attention to Finnick.

He smirks, his eyes darting to her left hand. "How about the pretty band on your finger?"

She exchanges a glance with Cato at this suggestion, utterly incapable of deciphering his cold expression. Just when she thinks he's about to snap, he looks to Finnick and says, "Fine. She'll play."

Satisfied, Finnick begins to shuffle. Katniss turns to Cato to ask him what exactly he is thinking, but he cuts her off.

"The goal of the game is to get to 21," he explains, "or closer than anyone else. If you go over, you've lost. Kings, queens and jacks are worth ten, ace is worth one. He'll deal one card to you at a time. If you think you can get closer to twenty-one, you say 'hit me'. Otherwise, you say you'll stay."

Two Capitol guests join them, placing their bets on the table. With a dazzling smile, Finnick begins to deal.

"Hit me," Katniss says after receiving an 8 of diamonds. Finnick slaps down a 9 of spades.

The others take their turn as she looks to Cato for advice on her next move. She's close to 21 at 17 – but not close enough to win. The patron next to her boasts a healthy 20 and asks to stay.

"Risky," Cato says, glancing at her engagement ring. With a slight shrug, he adds, "Your call."

With cocked eyebrows, Finnick waits on her next move with interest.

Katniss licks her lips, giving a near-imperceptible nod. "Hit me."

A 4 of hearts. 21.

"Well played," Finnick congratulates her, gathering up the cards. To the other players, he says, "Gentlemen, I should have warned you that Miss Everdeen is nothing if not a worthy opponent."

"You're a natural," Cato says in her ear. "That, or it's beginner's luck."

She turns her head in the direction of his lips. "Beginner's luck?"

"Someone who doesn't know a game well," he elaborates, "entering it for the first time and winning even against those who have trained or played before. Beginner's luck. The second time you play the game… you fail."

Something about his tone is ominous and foreboding, and she knows he is speaking of something broader than a game of blackjack. He is speaking of a different game… one where the wager is not a ring, but a life.

And he is speaking of her, a small, underprivileged Seam child who won the first round of the game.

Again, she ponders his motives, for she swears it sounds that he is not betting on her for the second round.

* * *

Before Snow exits the lavish party for the evening, he has words with Cato. Katniss is not certain who found who first. She isn't aware that anything suspicious is taking place until Mags points it out to her in garbled terms, fanning her cards in her hand and swishing scotch around in her glass.

They stand near the curtains separating one section of the stadium from the other, and while Snow appears to be listening patiently, if not with a wicked gleam in his eyes, Cato seems to be increasingly frustrated, speaking with cutting hand movements. There's no sense in trying to make out his words – he's too far away and is speaking too fast for that.

Katniss is not the only one who watches the exchange with interest. Haymitch, slumped in his chair with liquored eyes, takes in the interaction with sober cynicism. Finnick, in the process of dealing, glares coldly in Cato's direction, and beside him, Johanna Mason from 7 shakes her head in disgust. Even Enobaria bares her fangs in what looks like a growl.

Odd, Katniss thinks, more curious than ever over what took place between Cato and the president. Whatever it was, Snow replies calmly to Cato's words and leaves him standing there, more livid than ever. Bent on destruction, Cato tears on the curtain and flings the torn pieces at the ground. Then he stalks away, brushing past his district partner and exiting the stadium on his own. Katniss stares at the empty entrance in fascination.

It is only a moment before he is followed, and Katniss is surprised that the camera crews are too preoccupied to notice. It's neither Enobaria who follows him, nor Cashmere or Gloss from 1, but Haymitch.

Confused, and frankly, betrayed, Katniss abandons Mags and is next to exit the stadium, eyes darting every which way in search of her mentor. Who does Haymitch think he is? Whose side is he on?

"Hey!" shouts a voice near the elevator. Katniss spins around to see Haymitch striding purposefully to Cato, who is waiting for a ride up. Before either of them can turn around, she flattens herself against a wall and does not even dare to peer around the corner.

"Where do you think you're going?" Haymitch continues.

"Up," Cato replies haughtily. "I've had enough."

"You don't think they're going to notice if you're gone? You don't think that will work against you?"

"I don't give a shit about that," Cato spits, and from the ferocity of his words, Katniss believes him.

Haymitch tries another plan of attack, this time lowering his voice to ask, "What did you say to Snow? What did you want him to give you?"

"Get off," Cato snarls, and from taking the briefest peek around the corner, Katniss sees that Haymitch had attempted to place a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Nothing. I didn't ask him to _give _me anything. I'm not stupid enough to think I can bargain with him."

"Then what? What did he say that's got you like this?"

There's a pause, and Katniss can only imagine Cato's furious glare. "What do you care?" he finally demands.

Haymitch takes a step back. "You and I have someone in common. We work together."

"No," Cato denies him immediately. "I don't work with drunks. Whatever happened in there doesn't matter. Shouldn't matter to you. In a day, you'll be _dead_."

She hears the _ding!_ of the elevator's arrival. Without another word, Cato steps in. Haymitch retreats, and Katniss fights the urge to run to him and tell him that Cato was wrong, he isn't going to die – and certainly not by Cato's hand. She won't let him kill another of her district partners and leave her alone again because, drunk and bitter or not, Haymitch is the only one she has left.

That night, once the gala is over and Katniss has peeled off her gown and inspected her burgeoning belly in the mirror, she yanks the engagement ring from her finger and hurls it at the floor. She wishes she had lost it in the game and there was no such thing as beginner's luck at all.

* * *

Haymitch has long since given up training her for public speaking, so it's Effie who tackles Katniss' preparations for her interview with Caesar Flickerman. Three hours after breakfast, Katniss is exhausted. _It's the baby who drains all your energy_, Effie says matter-of-factly, but Katniss is certain she'd be much more awake and alive if not for posture lessons, articulation classes and a presenting-the-proper-image seminar with her district escort.

The sofa in their penthouse lounge looks so inviting, and within mere seconds of sitting down after lunch, she's fast asleep.

When she wakes, the sun has moved from the sofa all the way to the potted ficus across the room. She's surprised they allowed her to sleep for so long, and even more surprised to realize with a yawn that she could have slept longer. Would have, too, were it not for the voices filtering in from the dining area.

"He's talked it over with the two from 1 and with Enobaria. They're not happy about it, but they're in agreement: they'll take the girl." It's a voice that sounds familiar, but she does not instantly recognize.

"And why would they agree to that?" comes the unmistakeable cynicism of Haymitch.

"Haymitch, please, you must remember you're not her mentor anymore. I'll handle this," trills Effie Trinket. "Brutus, tell me – why would the Careers agree to that?"

_Brutus_. Katniss remains horizontal on the sofa, her cheek pressed firmly to the pillow so to seem asleep. Cato's mentor has paid them a visit, and it seems the reason is her.

"All I know is that they've agreed," Brutus says. "Look, I spoke to Cato and then to their mentors, who confirmed it. This is the best offer she's gonna get, Haymitch."

There's a pause before Effie pipes up again. "I'll handle this. How do we know she'll be safe with them?"

"You don't," Brutus says bluntly. "But she's better off with them than against them."

"Unless they want her with them so they'll always know where she is," Haymitch chimes in. "Cato will remember last year's hunt for the Girl on Fire."

Katniss shivers, remembering it herself.

"What does he have to gain by Katniss being in his alliance other than sponsors for himself for taking care of his pregnant fiancée?"

_It's true_, Katniss agrees. Sponsors will line up to shower gifts on Cato if he goes to any lengths to "protect" her. He certainly can't kill her; it would damage his own chances – but someone else can. Someone in his alliance.

"Cato is the only victor who has something to prove," Brutus says slowly, selecting his words with care. "I won't argue that. He came to claim a rightful victory. But all's fair in the arena, and I'm telling you right now, if she turns down this offer, she won't survive the bloodbath."

"You really think this is the best she can do?" Haymitch asks.

"Haymitch," Effie says under her breath. "Well, Brutus – do you?"

"Look," says the bulky mentor from 2, "I think we all know there's little hope for the Girl on Fire. If she gets to a bow and has someone strong watching over her, she might have a chance. If not, who's going to defend her? You? Stumpy from 11? She's a goner."

"She seems to think she can defend herself," Haymitch mutters.

"Well, she can't," Brutus says simply. "Every tribute knows she's a threat. They want her out of the way. What'll it be, Haymitch?"

"Haymitch is a tribute!" Effie snaps, at her breaking point from being ignored. "He can't speak on behalf of another tribute. Only _I _can do that as her mentor." There is another pause. "As it is…" Effie continues shakily, "I think we should talk to Katniss."

Katniss shuts her eyes, thinking they'll come for her straight away.

Instead, footsteps grow fainter across the hardwood floor of the dining suite. "Talk to her soon," Brutus says warningly. "Time is running out."

* * *

"No," Katniss says backstage before the interviews, firm and unyielding.

"It would be a smart choice," Haymitch says, shrugging his shoulders. "The Careers have some of the youngest and strongest candidates."

"Enobaria looks like she wants to eat me," Katniss argues, "and Cashmere and Gloss could tear me apart limb from limb. Don't even get me started on Finnick Odair."

"I doubt Finnick will join the Careers," Haymitch muses, more to himself than to her. Still, she demands an explanation.

"Why not?"

Haymitch shrugs. "I haven't seen him anywhere near the lot of them since we arrived. With that said, if you're not going to join up with the Careers, I'd suggest Finnick. He's swift, resourceful, and the Capitol loves him – you remember that trident his sponsors sent during his Games?"

Katniss nods, rolling her eyes. As the Capitol's Golden Boy, Finnick is bound to receive plenty of gifts in the arena. She'd never go hungry if allied with him, but she also doesn't trust him with an inch of her life.

She tells Haymitch so, and he groans.

"You need to ally with someone, sweetheart. There's no one better than Finnick."

"I told you who I'd consider: Mags, Beetee and Wiress."

The mentor hangs his head and runs his hands through his hair. "Could you – _please_ – be serious about this?"

"I _am _serious," Katniss huffs, pulling her dress higher on her chest. Cinna designed her a pristine white gown on Snow's orders – a wedding dress for the wedding that will never take place. At least one good thing will come out of the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. "What about you, Haymitch? Who will your allies be?"

"You let me worry about that."

She's about to argue with him further – how can he be so invested in her fate when she isn't allowed to question his? – when there comes a knock on the door to the dressing room. Haymitch urges Katniss to stay seated and answers the knocker himself. So she remains on the sofa and fiddles with her ring, which feels strange and foreign on her finger again after a night spent without it. After throwing it across the room in a fit of rage, she was inevitably forced to pick it up again. It's part of her interview ensemble: the blushing bride-who-will-never-be.

She begins to wonder if Nerissa was ordered to dress Cato as a groom when she hears his voice, as if he knew instinctively that her thoughts had drifted to him.

"I just want to talk to her," Cato says, but Haymitch has the door open only a sliver.

"About what?"

"About tomorrow."

"She's getting ready for her interview," Haymitch says, making a move to shut the door. Cato is faster and jams his body between the door and the frame.

"Come on," he says, "let me in."

"Tributes aren't supposed to see each other before interviews."

"Don't be a dick," Cato growls, using his strength to push on the door. The gap widens, but Haymitch stands his ground and pushes back.

Katniss watches the scene in fascination, not entirely sure of either one's motives. Why would Cato care to visit her before the interviews? Is there something in particular he wants her to say, or is this another request for her to join the Careers? She's curious enough to know what he wants that she almost suggests that Haymitch let him in.

But Haymitch wins, for a member of the backstage crew walks past outside the dressing room, sees the altercation and tells Cato he must step away and return to his own quarters. Cato kicks the door in anger one last time, and they hear his curses fade down the hallway.

As Haymitch wipes his brow and turns to face her, she raises her eyebrows with scepticism. "I thought you wanted us to spend time together."

"It was best for the cameras," he agrees, "but it seems everyone has their own agenda."

That much is inarguable, but she struggles to understand what Cato's agenda may be. At times – during the gala when he met with Snow, Brutus' conversation with Haymitch – it seemed that he was out to ensure her destruction. Other times – during the training sessions, at the tribute parade, when he visited her in her room upon her arrival – it seemed as though… she doesn't know what it seemed like. Violent and furious and wild as he is, the most terrifying thing about Cato is her inability to read his thoughts or emotions.

"What's yours?" Katniss asks, crossing her ankles and staring into the eyes of her mentor.

Haymitch doles her a wistful glance from across the room. "To get you home to your mother and sister, and to the one you love."

Gale. That pang in her heart is back, especially in realizing that he is about to see her take the stage five months' pregnant and in a wedding dress.

She can't even argue with Haymitch that she doesn't love him, because she does – it rings true in her chest and she can't deny it. She loves him, though she isn't certain in what way.

With a final glance at the ring on her finger, she takes a breath and waits for Cinna to make the final touches.

* * *

Sure enough, when she spots him ahead in line to be interviewed, Cato is dressed as a groom in a tuxedo.

"Clever, Snow," she mutters without a breath of humour.

Cato looks for her only once, after Cashmere has been called onstage for her interview. His gaze is wistful, and when her eyes find his, his expression hardens. He turns back to the front of the line as Katniss commends herself for her choice not to ally with the Careers. She is putting herself in a dangerous and perhaps fatal position, but she does not forget being chased and cornered in a tree during last year's Games, nor has she lost sight of Cato's triumphant smile as he loomed over her on the Cornucopia.

The other tributes do not fail to notice her bridal ensemble for the evening. Some look on with pity, but the vast majority deliver her critical, bitter glares, as if she had any say in her outfit whatsoever.

She hates standing on display, and with a groan, she realizes that's exactly what she'll be doing for the next twenty-two interviews. Each tribute has only a few minutes with Caesar Flickerman to make an impression, and by the twenty-third tribute to take the stage, most of the impressions have already been made. Cinna has debriefed her on the quirks and capabilities of her dress, so it might have to make the impression for her… again.

She sighs heavily. Haymitch pats her shoulder, pointing to the screen backstage that televises the interviews. Enobaria is just bidding Caesar farewell and giving the audience one more flash of her razor-sharp fangs.

Ahead, Cato is readjusting his tie and the cuffs of his sleeves. It's not long before the crew ushers him away, and at the announcement of his name, the backstage walls echo with uproarious cheers. For someone who doesn't even "claim a rightful victory", as Brutus so gently put it, he appears to have a substantial amount of support.

As Katniss watches him cross the stage, shake hands with Caesar and wave to the audience with a barely-conceivable smile, she mutters to herself, "So arrogant."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you're wearing the same face," Haymitch whispers to her. Over her shoulder, she shoots him a glare as a warning to keep his thoughts to himself.

Caesar begins by posing some of the more typical questions: What is your strategy going into the arena? Do you feel prepared? What were you thinking when you learned that this year's Games would involve only existing victors?

To this, Cato diverges from the other tributes in his response. He takes a noticeable breath, his shoulders falling and rising rapidly in resignation. "I thought…" he begins, grinding his teeth in contemplation. "I thought about Katniss."

Haymitch nudges her, as if she may have failed to recognize that her name was mentioned, but she won't grant him the satisfaction of another haughty glare. Instead, she stares stone-faced at the screen, ignoring the whispers and glances of the other tributes in line.

"Miss Everdeen," Caesar clarifies as the crowd coos in sympathy. "Your fiancée."

Expression unreadable, Cato nods, unwilling to elaborate.

"You knew that, because there are no other female victors in District 12, she would be selected again as tribute."

Cato nods again.

"Did you know, at this point, that she was carrying your child?"

Katniss forces her tongue into the side of her cheek, wishing they could branch out to some other topic.

"Not for sure," Cato replies stiffly. "She told me shortly after."

"And how did you feel about that?"

At this, Cato laughs in a short breath, marvelling at the question. "How did I feel knowing my fiancée and unborn child would be going into an arena surrounded by twenty-three killers? Not good, Caesar, shockingly."

Nervous laughter ripples from the audience.

"Of course, of course," Caesar muses with all his charm. "And tell me, does District 2 support your decision to volunteer again in these Games, to be beside your pregnant fiancée?"

Cato thinks again before giving his answer. "It's hard to say. By the time my district learned that she was pregnant in her own reaping, I was long gone."

By the shocked gasps from the crowd, it would appear that a scandal has taken place.

"You didn't tell anyone?"

The blond tribute stares Caesar in the eyes and shakes his head.

"Not even your parents?"

Cato shrugs, and though he plays it cool, Katniss senses his unease. "In my district, there are certain things not held in high regard. They're not laws, but… they're unspoken rules, I guess. You don't get a girl pregnant before she's eighteen and her name is out of a glass bowl." He gives another acidic chuckle.

"But you and Katniss decided to start a family," Caesar says, prompting Cato to continue.

With a frown, Cato shakes his head. "No, we didn't decide."

"Now, don't tell me there wasn't some sort of decision that took place that led to a baby," Caesar jokes, and the crowd howls with laughter.

Cato looks into the audience, his expression neutral. When his gaze returns to the host, he says simply, "Well… we were in love."

Katniss almost rolls her eyes at his disingenuous response and again at the collective "aww" from the audience.

"Were?"

"_Are_," Cato corrects quickly, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "I love her."

Caesar nods thoughtfully, allowing the crowd to respond with an entire spectrum of emotions. When the noise has died down, he leans forward to ask his final question. "Is there anything you want to say to your district now?"

Cato pauses, scratching behind his neck. "I can't say I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I wish it was that easy this time. But I didn't know it would come to this."

The brightly-decorated host turns to the camera. "Very moving words from our male tribute from District 2. Cato, thank you very much for sitting down with us. Ladies and gentlemen, give a round of applause to Cato Embry!"

Amidst the hoots, hollers, and raucous applause, all Katniss can do is pinch the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes. Between the two of them, Cato is the better actor, and she can't possibly follow that act – even if some of his words rang true.

She wishes the night were over, even if tomorrow brings the arena.

* * *

The tribute interviews are much more than Katniss ever expected. Many of the tributes seem to know just where to take their three minutes in the spotlight, and in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, they point to the president as the cause of the Quarter Quell. The Capitol has grown attached to its victors and cheers along with them when they ask if things might not be changed; if this is legal and just at all.

Katniss spends the remainder of the interviews fiddling with her dress, trying to minimize the bump in her belly. She doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't want to talk about Snow, either. Words are not her strong point, so as the interviews progress, so do her nerves increase.

When the time comes and she is called to the stage, she knows she must simply let her stunning outfit speak for itself. It's what Cinna intended.

The audience is a mess of emotions by the time she is introduced, and once she appears and accepts a kiss on the cheek from Caesar Flickerman, they are hysterical. The sight of the young tribute, five months' pregnant and in a wedding dress, produces an enormous response.

Even Caesar Flickerman is at a loss for a moment or two, but he manages to ask during a break in mass hysteria if there's anything she'd like to say.

There isn't. There really isn't. She doesn't owe the Capitol anything.

But she thinks of what Haymitch might want her to say, what Cinna might want her to say, and how to play off the brilliant interviews of those who came before her and ever-so-subtly direct attention to the beloved president of Panem.

"Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding… but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just… the most beautiful thing?"

Then she stands for the crowd and spins to their cheers. And spins, and spins, until the dress goes up in smoke and flames and she worries something has gone horribly awry with Cinna's design. But when her throat opens again and she catches a glimpse of herself on the television screen, she realizes she is now the colour of coal, and her gown is decorated in tiny feathers. Wings.

She is a mockingjay.

Katniss must appear just as surprised as everyone else, for Caesar gives her a moment to catch her breath by asking Cinna to take a bow. And suddenly she realizes what her stylist has done. The danger he has put himself in. When she catches his eye in the crowd, he nods reassuringly, but she fears he has just sealed his own fate.

"Now, Katniss, I want to backtrack for a minute," Caesar says, speaking over the howling crowd. "Your wedding with Cato. I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say it was a delight to watch your romance bloom over the course of your Victory Tour—" he stops for the crowd's hollering, "—but I had no idea it would evolve into something so very serious and deep."

Katniss licks her lips, wishing she was twirling in smoke again. "We fell in love fast," she says with a shrug.

"Yes, that much is clear," Caesar agrees, "and I think we all remember that monumental scene atop the Cornucopia from last year's games. Back then, the two of you were prepared to do whatever it took to be the sole victor – even kill each other. How do you overcome something like that; how did you connect?"

A strand of dark hair falls to her cheek, and she brushes it behind her ear as she thinks. With a steadying breath, she replies, "I saw something in him."

Vagueness does not translate with Caesar, and he waits for more.

Her thoughts are jumbled and she's not able to think of a lie. Instead, she continues, "We're very similar, in a way. Wild."

"Wild," Caesar repeats, a smile crossing his face. "I like that. One last question for you, Miss Everdeen. When we spoke last year, you said that you were playing the Games for your sister. You promised to win for her. Did you make the same promise this year?"

Katniss shakes her head sadly. The crowd seems to take a collective sniffle. "I wanted to, but I couldn't make any promises. Of course I'll try. Not just for Prim, but for the baby. The baby's not the tribute – I am. It shouldn't be a part of the Games. It should have the chance to live."

Caesar nods while members of the crowd begin to sob. "Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen," he says, standing and taking her hand. While the crowd screams, he flashes her a glittering smile and adds, "I truly mean that."

* * *

In a stark display of unity before the eyes of the Capitol, the tributes join hands following the end of the interviews and take a bow to a smattering of applause and another round of the crowd's weeping. It's one step too far for those behind the Games, for the power is cut and the stadium is shrouded in blackness. After a moment or two, the audience begins to shuffle and panic.

"Get to the elevator and go up – now, before you get lost in here," Haymitch orders.

"Are you coming?" Katniss asks, reaching out for his arm so she can have some sense of where he is in the darkness.

"In a moment. I'll be behind you. Go!"

Haymitch places his hands on her shoulders and points her in the direction of the elevator to send her on her way. Then, as far as she can tell, he's gone.

But there are bodies all around her, pushing and shoving – some tributes, some mentors, some members of the audience – trying to get out and into the light. She's jostled enough times that she's ready to threaten the life of the next person who touches her. Don't they know she carries a child?

"Wrong way," comes a deep voice. Rough hands lock around her arms and redirect her path. "Elevator's over here."

"How did you find me?" she asks Cato, knowing it's him by the pacifying tone of his voice and the strength in his hands. Blackness is all that surrounds her; anxious voices drown everything out.

"Listen," he says into her ear, ignoring her question, "don't you trust them."

"Who?"

"Anyone. They have a plan – I don't know what it is, but I know it's not going to work."

They? Who is _they_? She is so confused as she's ushered along, and feels relief at the sight of the elevator's dim lights ahead, glowing in the black.

Then he whispers five words into her ear that send a shiver coursing through her; five words she never thought she'd hear from him:

"I can get you out."

In the casting glow of the elevator's lights, she catches the shadow of his face over her shoulder.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks.

The peacekeeper who guards the elevator will allow Katniss on, but not Cato. They are destined for different floors. He tries to get past, but his efforts are futile.

With a grimace of anger, he simply leans over the peacekeeper's outstretched arm and says, his voice barely audible, "Tomorrow, you run. You get away."

She shakes her head. "I'm not leaving unless I have a bow—"

"I'll get you a bow," he snaps, annoyed by her interruption. "You run," he says again, shaking her shoulder to ensure she's looking into his frozen eyes, "and you wait for us where it's clear. We'll find you."

He waits for her answer, but she's too disoriented and flustered to offer a reply. _Us_? _We_? Allying with the Careers. She swore she never would. But she doesn't simply think for herself now. As much as it burdens her, she carries a child.

Cato's child.

Finnick and Johanna spot her in the elevator and race over, their expressions eager and frantic, but the peacekeeper blocks their entrance as well. The doors close to their disappointment and Cato's searching eyes.

When he arrives in the penthouse that night, Haymitch puts an arm around her shoulders, to her surprise. He says he is sorry. That she doesn't deserve this. That he's going to try all he can to get her out alive, and he believes they can do it, as long as she remembers who the enemy is.

"And beware of Cato," Haymitch adds as a final afterthought. "He was born a Career, and he'll die a Career."

She lies alone in her bed for a long time, puzzling over whether it is better to die or fight.

* * *

It's a long way down from the roof, and that's why Katniss likes it. It's so very far away from the Capitol people below, who hoot and cheer and place bets and riot. They are so different from her, and that's what she must remember when she dies in the arena. That to live as a walking circus for the entertainment of these freaks would be no life at all.

The roof of the Training Center seems to hover in its own serene bubble, where she is removed from the Capitol and the world altogether. Before last year's Games, Peeta was here with her. Tonight, she stands alone. Not entirely alone, but she's trying to break the habit of seeing the baby as its own person.

Footsteps behind her cause her to turn away from the skyline, and she expects to see Haymitch, not Cato, joining her.

Still, she's not altogether surprised – he's been up here before, in this secret place of hers. He's left his tuxedo behind and wears only a t-shirt, khaki shorts, and a wary expression, as if he expects her to lunge at him like she did the last time they were up here together.

She waits for him to join her at the railing before blurting out, "I shot an arrow at an apple in the pig's mouth."

His frown is subtle, but still readable – she's taken him by surprise. "What?"

"You wanted to know how I got the 11 in training last year. I fired at their meal and narrowly missed Seneca Crane."

He leans forward, resting his hands on the rail, and whistles, unable to suppress a half-smile. "Never a dull moment with you, Fire Girl."

"The 11 wasn't a reward. It was punishment for defying them. Another target on my back."

"What'd you do this time to earn yourself a perfect score?"

The dummy was begging for an arrow in its heart, and she wrote the name across his chest: SENECA CRANE.

Her gaze burns into him, boring flames into his icy eyes. "They want me dead."

He nods slowly. "I know."

When their exchange becomes too intense, she drops her eyes to her hands and plays with the ring on her finger. She senses him watching her, aware of her every move, as always.

"Haymitch wants me to take the ring as my token," she mumbles. "He says it will attract sympathy."

"You have enough sympathy," Cato says with a snort. She sneaks him a glare, for his words are cold. He shrugs, his expression softening. "You need to show them your strength. They need to know you're still fighting. Take the pin."

Perplexed, she directs her attention back to the ring, marvelling at its glittering presence in the moonlight.

"Last year, I found Peeta up here after the interviews," she says, speaking more to herself than to him. Still, she is aware that he hangs on every word. "He said that if he died in there, he wanted to die as his own person. He didn't want the Capitol to own him. I didn't really understand what he meant."

She shuts her eyes in memory of the boy with the bread. The one who saved her twice without anything in return. Her chest aches to remember his blond hair and compassionate eyes.

"I do now," she finishes, her voice a whispery breath.

Cato sighs unhappily, tearing his eyes away as soon as she looks up. "Trust me," he says, "no one owns _you_, Fire Girl."

_You must belong to someone,_ Snow's taunting voice dances in her ear.

She looks at Cato, inquisitive and saddened all at once. Quietly, she says, "You do."

His jaw tightens, and he returns her stare with a penetrating one of his own. Though the intensity of his frigid eyes says it all, she finds herself placing a hand on her stomach as if to confirm it. Cato's gaze travels down without shame.

"Does it hurt?" he asks suddenly.

"What?"

He gestures to the swell in her clothing. She looks down as if what's there is a surprise.

"Oh," she breathes, bringing both hands to rest there. "No. Not usually."

"But sometimes?"

She shrugs. "At first nothing felt different. After a while, I was sick all of the time… it felt like nothing stayed down."

In a rare display of expressive human emotion, Cato winces in disgust.

"My mother says that's normal," Katniss adds in her own defence. "She's a healer."

"That can't be right," he dismisses her claim. "If every woman felt sick all the time, they wouldn't keep having babies. Or they would invent a drug to put an end to it."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "It doesn't last forever. Only a month or so. I don't feel that way anymore. Now it just feels uncomfortable. And sometimes, it kicks me."

A smug grin crosses Cato's face. "It kicks you?"

She nods, cradling her stomach in her hands. Her mother told her that all babies kick, particularly during the middle of a pregnancy before they become too big to move around. It's a sign of life, she said, and a way to monitor a baby; to ensure everything is okay.

To Katniss, the kicking reminds her that the baby is trapped inside her with no hope of escape. That they are one, and she will lure it to its death. The kicks are its frenzied cries for release – its violent expressions of hatred against its captor. It scares her, if she is honest with herself. As much as she convinces herself that she hates the baby, knowing that it hates her in return is terrifying.

"Can I feel it?" he asks, and though the question is brazen, her head snaps up to meet his eyes and sees their uncertainty. Taken aback, she hesitates, and he adds with a scoff, "You can say no."

Though she answers questions about her pregnancy for her mother's medical evaluations and Prim always caters to her random and odd dietary cravings, no one takes interest in the slightly-raised bump in her belly. They speculate on how Snow has had it created as a weapon against her and how it will hinder her abilities in the Games, but they do not dare invest themselves in details of her condition or the life inside her, knowing that it is inevitably doomed. It's shocking – and frankly, frightening – that Cato dares to take such a bold step.

He's opening his mouth to change the subject when she grabs his hand. Palm facing her, she places it on her stomach, just overtop the swell.

"It's not much," she says, brushing a hair from her face. "Just hard."

While she studies his reaction, which is minimal, at most, Cato keeps his gaze trained on her stomach. She holds his hand there for a sense of control over the situation.

Finally, his eyes flicker and then travel up her torso to meet her face.

"That's weird," he says without expression.

"I know," she agrees.

"I can't feel it kicking."

"It's sleeping right now."

Cato grins, arrogant and true. "Or maybe it likes me."

Rather than reacting with fire, Katniss tilts her head in wonder. How had he read her thoughts so easily? Somehow he has decrypted one of her deepest worries, and amongst ire and curiosity, her most predominant feeling is fear.

She releases his hand and he lets it fall to his side, his smile fading. Still, he makes no apologies for himself.

Instead, he straightens and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You should sleep."

"So should you."

He nods. Together, they walk across the roof and descend into the penthouse. Before he crosses the lounge and dining area and takes the elevator to his floor, he stops and turns. With stories on his tongue, he hesitates and then simply says, "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she repeats, wary of the contents of their earlier conversation through opened elevator doors.

She's about to leave for her room when he stops her, grabbing a light hold of her wrist.

"Katniss," he says, letting go as soon as he has her attention. With a light shake of his head, he continues, "Don't play their game."

Then he's gone, and as she dozes fitfully for the rest of the night, she realizes that perhaps she will die before she learns what he means.

* * *

The Launch Room is similar to last year's – a table, two chairs, and hooks on the white walls – and just like last year, she takes sips of water as she waits with Cinna. The standard tribute uniform this year is a fitted jumpsuit, strikingly blue – disadvantageous for camouflage – and zippered on the front. The tributes will also wear thick, padded belts, which Katniss has already tested for securing her weapons and for potentially acting as armour. Cinna helps her into it, remarking that the belt is no designer's dream, but is padded and light, and should serve some purpose. Leaving her to strap up her boots, he wanders to the table and then back, both his hands balled into fists.

He holds them out to her and uncurls his fingers, revealing her engagement ring in one hand and the mockingjay pin in the other.

"You decide, Katniss," he says, eyes on her. "Haymitch and Effie told me which one you should have, but I thought I'd bring both in case you changed your mind."

Staring at the two tokens in his hands, she shakes her head in confusion. Haymitch and Effie are right – the ring would generate more sympathy and garner more sponsors. The mockingjay only promises danger.

But she is torn. There are so many offering their advice and telling her what to do that even now, moments before she enters the arena, she does not know who to trust – if anyone. She is more isolated than ever, and she's certain that's how Snow wants her to feel.

She makes her selection in Cinna's hands. The gold mockingjay, simple in design but powerful in representation. She will die as Peeta died: her own self.

The stylist grins, a secret, devious smile. "I was hoping it would come to that," he says, pinning the mockingjay to her suit. "And that – that right there – is why I'm still betting on you."

With an overwhelming surge of fondness, she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly. "Thank you," she whispers to Cinna, her dear friend.

He kisses her cheek and walks her to the glass cylinder.

"I'll see you on the other side," he promises, knocking on the glass as it closes around her.

A smile is a difficult feat, but she manages it briefly before it is ripped away from her. While she stands helplessly in the tube, three peacekeepers burst into the room. Before Cinna can react, two have grabbed hold of his arms and the other attacks, beating him to his knees. After a blow to the head that has her shrieking and pounding on the glass, they drag him from the room for what is sure to be further punishment. All that's left of him is drops of crimson blood on the floor.

Katniss is wide-eyed and shaken as the tube ascends.

* * *

A blinding white strikes her eyes as the cylinder is raised to the platform. Katniss, stricken with panic and grief after watching Cinna dragged away by peacekeepers, instinctively squeezes her eyes shut and raises a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes.

The countdown is starting. Sixty seconds for all tributes to orient themselves and strategize. Then the landmines around the platforms are deactivated and the gong sounds.

But how can she think – how can she _breathe_ – given what has happened?

She attempts to open her eyes, but still, it's too bright. With eyes shut, she takes three deep breaths. In that span of ten seconds, she allows herself to think back to Prim. To Gale. All that she has left behind. She can only allow herself to indulge on these thoughts for a few precious seconds.

She is interrupted by her senses. A salty tang is in the air, which is dense and humid – not at all comfortable. Her ears ring with the sound of lopping water. Sight is the last sense to sharpen its focus, but when it does, she sees the Cornucopia ahead underneath the dangerous midday sun, on a strip of sandy beach surrounded entirely by water. The horn is stacked with provisions, as always, but tributes must make it through the waves first.

To her right is the male tribute from 8, Woof, and to her left, divided from her by a wafer-thin strip of land, is the female Morphling from District 6. Neither one appears particularly sure of themselves when it comes to the water.

Some of the tributes are blocked from sight by the Cornucopia that rests in the center, but in her survey of the landscape, she spies Cato far to her left, nearly hidden behind the horn. His face is a warrior's mask that betrays him neither fear nor confusion, and he leans forward in ready position, as any trained Career would. But his eyes are on her. Watching, waiting for any kind of reaction. Those azure eyes unsettle and fascinate her as they always do.

The shrill ring of the gong has her in play, and without hesitation, she dives in and cuts through the waves. Panem, no doubt, is wondering where in hell a small girl from landlocked District 12 learned to swim. An unwelcome gulp of saltwater invades her lungs before she reaches the sand and, prior to dragging herself up off the sandy floor, she coughs and splutters. Of course it's saltwater – the gamemakers wouldn't make it _that_ easy.

On her feet at last, she discovers that she's not the only one there. A mere fifty yards away, Cato has just reached the shore, drenched and breathless. She allows herself to be surprised only for a moment, until she recalls his brief mention of the swimming hole in District 2 – where Caia had a tragic accident.

But he is the only Career – the only other _tribute_ – ashore. And with one startled look at each other, both break into a run toward the Cornucopia.

She moves as fast as her legs can carry her, but it's not enough. He reaches the horn first and, instead of grabbing the nearest weapon, turns and catches her shoulders. She braces herself for the kill she knows will come – with his bare hands, no less. There's no telling who will win the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, but by killing the victor who nearly defeated him, Cato is off to a good start.

The blow never comes.

Katniss opens only one eye first and, seeing him waiting expectantly, she opens the second and releases the tension in her shoulders.

Under his breath, he says, "I told you to run." His voice has a menacing chill that reminds her of the animal he is.

She will not bow to him. With gritted teeth, she replies tongue-in-cheek, "I can't walk on water."

The opportunity for a peripheral glance arises. The rest of the tributes are paddling futilely against the waves or stranded on their platforms.

For a second, she swears his expression of steel will crack into a smile, but he retains his composure. Still, it's with a sense of amusement that he asks, "Who knew the Girl on Fire could swim?"

"I'm full of surprises."

He nods in agreement. "The others are coming. Get your bow and swim to the beach. Climb, if you can. I'll find you after the bloodbath."

She's shaking her head halfway through his instructions. "No," she says firmly to his scowl. "I'm not waiting for them. I don't ally with Careers."

By the protruding veins in his neck and the flare of his nostrils, she knows he is threatening to explode with anger and is keenly aware that he can break her, weapons or no weapons. Far be it from her to forget the day he snapped the neck of the incompetent tribute from 3.

But she must also keep her breath steady and remind herself that if he lashes out at her, it will reflect poorly on him. As a Career, he has been trained to appeal to the public.

Finally, he blows outward, a long breath to keep himself calm. "Fucking hell, Katniss," he whispers, leaning so close to her that droplets from his hair drip onto her skin, "they're our best shot."

"_Our_?" she hisses back. "Since when did you and I become_ we_?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and when he hardens his already-stone eyes, she flinches on instinct, preparing for the strike.

Again, it doesn't come. Frustrated and barely keeping his cool, Cato refuses to dignify her question with a response and instead stalks to the Cornucopia, glancing all around as he does. Within moments, he has a sword for each hand and three daggers stuffed into his belt.

Cato senses her approaching and, without so much as a glance in her direction, mutters as he reaches across the stockpile, "Don't worry. I got you a—"

He stops, tugging at the weapon with no success. A curse forms on his lips and is just about to materialize when a bronze-haired tribute pops out from behind the provisions.

"Bow?" asks Finnick Odair, whose roguish smile is as bedazzling as ever. With the bow in one hand, a trident in the other and a net over his shoulder, it's clear that he's been in hiding ever since they reached the beach. Shocked as she is by his appearance, Katniss curses herself for not scouring the land for him sooner. Hailing from District 4, the fishing district, Finnick is no stranger to water.

Cato, on the other hand, is not trained to act shocked. He is simply trained to act. Without faltering, he hoists his sword in the air and brings it down.

Finnick, who is slightly shorter than Cato but just as built, anticipates the blow before it meets his skull and grabs Cato's wrist, effectively pausing his slice in midair. The bow crashes to the hard ground of the Cornucopia and his dancing green eyes darken at the assault.

It only takes a second for Finnick's lithe body to hop over the stockpile and engage in combat with Cato. Though so calm near one another mere nights ago at Snow's tribute gala, they are now in a war to the death. Cato thrusts his sword forward again and again only to have Finnick deflect it with his trident each time. They are a match in strength and skill.

Katniss' nerves are riled, but she has enough sense to retrieve the discarded bow. The sheath of arrows is not difficult to find, and with even hands, she does what she knows best: she nocks an arrow and aims it at the sparring men.

Almost instantly, they cease their duel and fixate on her, maintaining their defensive stances.

Finnick, cocking his head in intrigue, is the first to surrender his weapon and hold up his hands. He is nothing if not bold. In a sugary voice, he asks, "Who'll it be, Katniss?"

A challenge. She must choose.

Cato's eyes are blue fire as he drops his sword alongside Finnick's forgone trident. If he sought to kill her then and there, he would reach for a knife in his belt. But his hands do not move to his sides, and his eyes remain trained to hers – not pleading, not expecting, simply waiting. As if he knows what she will choose before she chooses it herself.

Annoyed by this realization, she directs her aim to the handsome victor from 4.

Despite his impending death, Finnick manages a dry smile. Then, hands raised, he makes the subtlest of movements – a flick of his wrist in the sunlight.

And she sees something there in a ring below his hand. A bracelet – his token. Catching the light, it burns with engraved flames, and in the center is a familiar winged creature. A mockingjay.

She recalls Haymitch speaking of the young victor from 4. Encouraging her to spend time with him, to ally with him. She ignored him then, but now she realizes how truly intent he was. Where would Finnick get such a bangle if not from Haymitch or Cinna?

Suddenly, she has the urge to aim her arrow somewhere else. Straight at Haymitch's heart. For he has made plans for her and kept her in the dark yet again.

"We'll stay together," she declares, lowering her bow halfway. To Finnick's raised brows and Cato's snarl, she adds, "For now." Frankly, she's not satisfied with Haymitch's choice of ally and she's not happy with her own, either. Neither of them can be trusted, and she knows it with every fibre of her being. But Cato is right – the Careers are approaching. There is no other choice she can see.

"Brilliant," Finnick says, distracted by something over her shoulder. He bends to retrieve his trident and Cato reacts by drawing his swords, but Finnick bypasses him without a second glance and heads to Katniss. "Excuse me," he says politely, and before she has a chance to turn around, he lunges past her and impales an intruder. The crunch his trident makes when it meets a human ribcage is nothing less than nauseating, and Katniss looks in horror at the male from District 5, dead on impact.

"Hmm," Finnick muses rather cheerfully, withdrawing his weapon from the corpse. "Must have crossed the border between 4 and 5 one day to practice his swimming." He strides over to the Cornucopia with Cato watching his every move and announces, "Now, to continue my pickings before more visitors arrive."

Katniss doesn't have time to admire his boldness in the face of two armed, distrusting victors. Finnick is right: they're about to be invaded. She can reconsider her options later, but for now, she has made her choice of allies.

Without a word, she raises her bow again and aims at Enobaria, who has made it to land and dives back into the water before the arrow can find her. Cato produces a knife from his belt and hurls it expertly into the forehead of the male from 9 who has nearly made it to shore. All the while, Finnick nonchalantly browses through the supplies.

"If we're together," Cato growls, "we go _now_." He grabs another knife from the supplies and shoves it in his belt.

Katniss picks some knives of her own, an awl for fishing, some rope, and an extra bow and arrows. No food or sheltering provisions exist in the stockpile, much to her disappointment.

"Right," Finnick finally agrees, lifting his head to examine the surroundings. Katniss has already fired another missing shot at Enobaria and a second at Gloss. Before he can submerge himself in the water, the tip of the arrow finds his calf.

As they race together along a spoke of land that extends past the platforms and to a beach, Finnick makes a gesture to someone. Katniss glances over to see Mags changing her path in the water, paddling slowly but steadily toward them.

"We wait for Mags," Finnick says, slowing to a halt. Katniss stops beside him, and Cato races ahead a few paces before he realizes he's alone.

He turns around lazily, irritation written all over his face. "You're kidding."

"Fine," Katniss says, to Cato's further exasperation. She trusted Mags from the beginning, and if the arena is half water and stocked with fish, Mags' skill with awls will always guarantee them a meal.

But Finnick is already one step ahead. "Beetee," he says, turning to Katniss. "You trust him?"

"Yes," she replies, just as Cato says, "No."

The green-eyed tribute nods, beginning to discard his weapons. "All right, then. Cover me." He dives smoothly into the water and begins to swim for Beetee's platform two spokes away.

Katniss raises her bow, but there's no need. The three remaining Careers – Enobaria, Cashmere, and Gloss – have made it to the Cornucopia and are picking over the weapons, and the rest of the tributes are either stopped on their platforms or struggling in the waves.

"Let's go," Cato says, tapping impatiently on her shoulder.

She glances at him, unperturbed. "You can."

Incredulously, he asks, "_I_ can?"

She shrugs. "No one's forcing you to stay."

"You'd stay with Finnick?" For a split second, betrayal washes over his expression. Just as quickly, it's replaced by impenetrable anger. "What makes you think he's not going to turn around and kill you?"

"You never can be sure," she replies. "But did you see his bracelet?"

Cato stares at her like she's insane. "His what?"

With a roll of her eyes, she continues, "It had a mockingjay. I know Haymitch wanted me to trust him."

"Haymitch?" Cato cries, fury ripping through his throat. "Haymitch won his own Games by default and only ever got one tribute out alive. And if you haven't noticed, he has yet to make a move off his platform. Please tell me you're not acting based on his boozed-up advice."

"Hey!" she says, forgetting entirely about Finnick for a moment to turn to Cato and stand her ground. He's wrong about Haymitch – she knows he is. Tributes from 12 are doomed from the start no matter their mentor, and as for Haymitch's Games – the last Quarter Quell – she knows that he made his final move with intention. Viewers were made to believe that Haymitch, alongside the last surviving female tribute, had no idea that her axe would fall down the cliff only to be spit back out at her. But upon delivering her the tapes of previous Games for her to study, Effie, in a whisper, had told her that she'd secured for her the uncensored versions. Katniss knew that Haymitch had discovered the mysteries of the cliff long before the end, and she knew that was why Snow disposed of everyone he loved within a month of his victory. Make a mockery of the Capitol and their Games and pay the ultimate price.

But she also knows that Cato despises Haymitch for reasons far deeper than the Games. She cannot defend Haymitch's rampant alcoholism, and though he is not violent and hurts no one but himself, she cannot pretend that he is any different from Cato's father, a cruel, domineering man controlled by the drink.

Cato waits for her argument, but nothing comes. They are left staring each other down until Finnick approaches again, Beetee in one arm, Mags in the other. One-by-one, he pops them out of the water and onto the shore.

"Hello," Beetee greets them politely, and Mags adds something in her muddled speech.

Finnick raises his eyebrows, picks up his tridents and looks upon the two teenagers expectantly. "Well?" he asks. "Everybody ready?"

Katniss nods, but she can't help one last longing glance at the Cornucopia. The Careers are honing their weapons and preparing to attack. Haymitch still stands on his platform but looks to make a move. As if he can sense her stare, his eyes cross the water to meet hers and he nods, encouraging her to go.

She has half a mind to demand that they collect him, as well, because despite their disagreements, he's been good to her. Her resolve only grows stronger, but Cato interrupts her before she can even begin.

"No time," he says, throwing his swords under one arm and grabbing her forearm with his free hand. He drags her toward him, adding, "If we're not with the Careers, then we have to get our asses out of here."

Haymitch is not the only one anticipating their leave – Enobaria is, too. With her fangs bared and her hands caressing a sharpened axe, she sends Katniss a wicked smile. Katniss has stolen her district partner, and for that, she will pay.

Unless, she thinks as she begins with the rest of them onto the beach and into the jungle, this is all part of a plan. A Career strategy to penetrate an alliance of outer districts and kill them all. Cato could be a piece in that operation.

From up ahead, he looks over his shoulder for her and stops. While the others keep going, he waits for her to catch up and they move on together.

* * *

Beyond the beach is dense jungle, and as they walk on for two hours or more, Katniss spots a number of creatures – mostly birds and reptiles – that she's never seen before. They're travelling uphill, which will provide them a decent vantage point of what lays below but doesn't hold much hope for finding water. Despite the humidity, which has her skin in a perpetual state of dampness, her mouth is dry and sticky.

It's Beetee who requests most of the breaks, and Finnick agrees easily not for himself – he is fit as a fiddle – but for Mags. He carries her effortlessly over his shoulder, but the position must not be entirely comfortable for her, and he always finds her a nice log or stone to sit in before delicately depositing her. Katniss watches him carefully, wondering what kind of person he is at home in District 4 for Mags to trust him so completely.

Katniss is glad for the little breaks where she can rest her already-aching back or climb a tree to scout their position and search for water. It's Cato who does not take kindly to respite. Though the furthest he lets himself go is a bitter scowl, Katniss knows he already resents Beetee and Mags for holding them back. He has no patience for the weak.

"They saw us leave," he reminds the group more than once, referring to the Careers. "After the bloodbath, they came straight after us."

"_Straight_," Finnick reminds him with a patronizing click of his tongue. "We didn't go straight."

It's true – Finnick, with Mags over his shoulder, led them on a zigzagged path all day. Katniss isn't entirely confident in his leadership, but if it all goes awry, she'll have two bows and plenty of arrows by her side.

"I think this is it," Finnick announces when they take another break. "As high as we can go."

The jungle has thinned out and levelled off. Ahead of them, there appears an endless array of nothingness.

"If the Careers are smart, they'll find water before they come after us," Beetee remarks.

"And we'll die from dehydration in the process," Cato snaps. "We should have stayed closer to the lake. There's no water up here."

"There has to be," Katniss argues. "Haven't you seen the birds and the lizards? How could they live up here if not for water nearby?"

Cato spins around, holding out his arms to gesture to the land. "Then where is it?"

Standing from her seat on a rock, Katniss throws her bows over her shoulder and says, "Well, it has to be somewhere. I'll look for it."

"Fine. I'll go with you," he says, taking a step forward.

Finnick, who has been watching the interchange with suspicion, takes the momentary silence as an opportunity to object. "I don't think that's a good idea," he says carefully. When Cato and Katniss both glare at him, he adds, "Not yet, anyway. We're still too close to the Cornucopia. We're better off moving further away before we set up camp."

Cato is about to protest again when there's a harsh buzzing sound behind them. All three of them cease their discussion and turn. Nothing is there – nothing but a rock bouncing toward them on the ground.

"What was that?" Cato asks.

From his seat on a low branch, Beetee picks up another stone and throws it forward. It makes it about ten feet before it stops in midair. There's that horrible buzzing again before it flies in the opposite direction.

Aside from Mags, who's too deaf to hear the noise, all three tributes stare questioningly at Beetee. The quirky man from 3 gives a wry smile. "It's a force field," he says. "We can't go beyond this point."

Needing to test it himself, Cato picks up a rock and hurls it. Sure enough, it hits the force field and bounces back. He bends over to retrieve it, throwing it from one hand to the other.

"It's hot," he says, glancing at the rest of them.

"How did you know there was a force field, Beetee?" Finnick asks.

The man shrugs, his nervous smile returning. "Chance throw."

They continue their hike, and with Beetee now asked to take the lead, Katniss, as well as Finnick and Cato, know that it was more than just a chance throw – but none of them are stupid enough to say anything, not with cameras hidden everywhere. Beetee, hailing from District 3 and winning his own Games by rigging explosives, has a distinct advantage in anything electrical or technological.

Finnick has fashioned a cane out of a tree branch for Mags so that she can walk on her own – albeit slowly, which frustrates Cato to no end – and the elderly woman finds nuts along the way, peels them and throws them into the force field. When they're good and cooked, she pops them into her mouth. Katniss tries to stop her at first, worried that the nuts may be poisonous, but after an hour or so, Mags is still alive and well and the rest of them begin to imitate her.

Katniss holds a hand to her back every few minutes to soothe the ache. Though she isn't all that pregnant around her middle, she feels it in the soreness of her limbs and particularly in her lower back after a day of walking.

"You okay?" Cato asks her once, placing a hand gently on her back. From the lack of concern in his eyes, she knows this is all for display. She plays along with a nod of reassurance and they leave it at that.

He makes it clear that he does not approve, however, of her tree climbing.

When the cannons fire eight times – eight dead at the bloodbath – Katniss finds a tall tree that looks the least exotic and begins her ascent. From this height, she'll be able to see the Cornucopia and hopefully spot some water, too.

"You don't know this kind of tree," Cato says, his hand on the base of the trunk as he watches her. "The branches could snap."

She ignores him, but climbs the boughs more carefully than usual. She calls down, "The arena is a circle – that's why the force field is curved. Jungle surrounds the Cornucopia and the lake."

"Any water?" Finnick asks.

She shakes her head. "The foliage is thick, though, so there's always a chance."

"Fine," Cato says impatiently. "We'll go looking again. Now just get down."

She does, delivering him a sour glare when he grabs her waist and places her lightly on the ground.

Finnick finds a decent spot near the force field for them to camp, and almost immediately, he and Mags set to work on weaving long, thick strands of grass for shelter. As soon as Katniss announces that she'll look for water again, Cato is hot on her heels. Finnick isn't too happy about the arrangement – Cato could do any number of things while they're alone in the jungle – but he lets them go with the agreement that they'll be back in an hour or less.

They walk for several minutes further into the jungle, with Katniss marvelling at the variety of lizards and brightly coloured birds that sing in the trees.

"I don't trust him," Cato says once they're well out of earshot.

"I never said I did," Katniss replies more calmly than she feels.

"He's leading us somewhere," he continues. "_To_ something. I know he's not allied with the Careers, but he has a deal with someone. I only hope whoever it was died in the bloodbath."

"He wasn't leading the whole way. Beetee led us along the force field," Katniss points out.

"That's another thing. Why the old man? Why was he was important to collect? He's not exactly valuable."

"Without him, you could have been fried by the force field!" Katniss cries in exasperation.

They stare each other down, neither one surrendering, and finally Cato steps in close, lowering his voice. "We could do better on our own," he says. "We could run right now. Make it halfway down the slope before they even noticed. They'd never catch us, and if they did, we'd be ready."

But she's ignoring him long before he finishes, captured by a strange mammal hanging upside down by its tail from a tree branch. After watching it curiously for a few moments, she readies her bow with fine-tuned movements and knocks it down with just one clean shot.

"Look," she says to Cato, crossing the jungle floor to retrieve her kill. "Its muzzle is wet. Do you know what that means?"

Though he's not pleased that she's changed the subject, he replies, "Water."

Renewed with hope, they search the area until their hour is up with no success. The creature had just taken a drink, but where did it come from? Frustrated, Katniss guts and cleans her kill to bring back to the camp. Cato watches her with sick fascination, having never hunted in his life in order to fill his belly.

"Dinner," she says afterwards, holding up the remains of the overgrown rat.

Cato scrunches his nose in disgust, but follows her without argument back to the others. He mutters under his breath, though it's obvious he intends for her to hear: "Something tells me it doesn't taste like chicken."

* * *

It's Beetee's idea to roast what Finnick has dubbed a 'tree rat' on the force field, to avoid other tributes from spotting their location due to smoke from a fire. They eat their meal in silence, and Katniss is certain she's not the only one thinking that it's only made her thirstier. Her last few bites hurt to swallow as they move down her parched throat.

Darkness has settled over the arena. The five of them sit at the mouth of a small shelter built by Finnick and Mags out of grass and large leaves in anticipation of the anthem. The seal of Panem lights up the night sky, followed by pictures of the fallen. It begins with the male from District 5 killed by Finnick, which means no one in Districts 1 to 4 has perished. Beetee sighs with relief, knowing that his partner, Wiress, still breathes, but Katniss knows that he, Mags, and Finnick all watch with bated breath, dreading the images of those they have known for years.

As for Katniss, there is only one face she absolutely cannot bear to see in the night sky, and that's the face of Haymitch. Eight died today, and she counts the images as they appear. When the eighth face appears on screen as Seeder, Chaff's partner from District 11, Katniss closes her eyes and exhales, unaware that she had been holding her breath.

From beside her, Cato senses her relief. "Not Haymitch," he whispers to her. She nods with a gulp. He's still out there somewhere. With Chaff, probably. She wonders if he will sleep with an empty belly and thirst tonight.

Once the anthem plays again and the final seal is broadcast, the sky fades to black – save for a silver parachute gliding through the air. Captivated, they watch as it drops just before their feet. Their first gift. As representatives from Districts 2, 3, 4, and 12, it's difficult to know which mentor would have organized it for the group.

Finnick hands the gift to Beetee to open, as he was the one who warned them about the force field. It's a hollow metal tube with a lip on one end, curving down. Beetee examines it thoroughly and, when he can't find a meaning for it, he passes it along.

They take turns inspecting the gift, but none of them can come up with an answer. If Haymitch were her mentor, the gift would be designed to make her think. But if it's from Effie… She wonders if Haymitch even gave her district escort any sort of training when it came to handling the sponsor donations. She has a feeling that Effie's gifts would be much more straightforward.

"Brutus," Cato says after giving up on the gift and handing it to Katniss. Directing his words to the sky, he asks, "What the hell is this?"

With the gift in her hands, Katniss searches it from end to end. A hollow metal tube… the shape of it looks vaguely familiar to her. She's seen one before, but she can't nail down her memory as to where. It serves a purpose, but what?

They go back and forth amongst themselves until Cato becomes so frustrated that he throws the thing in the dirt. Finnick watches him with an arched eyebrow, and Katniss knows it's not the first time today that he's questioned allying with Cato. Then again, she's had the same thoughts.

With thirst plaguing them, they're all edgy. Mags settles into weaving a basket out of grass, which is apparently a simple enough task in the dark of night, and Finnick jumps up to gather her more grass and leaves. Beetee ventures a few yards away to test the strength of the force field and Katniss lays down on her side, wincing in pain at her aching back. Her head is almost dizzy from the heat, and the leaves against her cheek feel so cool and refreshing.

She's not the only one who feels more comfortable this way. Only a few minutes later, her stomach begins to move. The baby is awake. She places a hand there, allowing it to adjust itself for a minute or two before she can't stand it any longer.

"Shh," she begs. "Stop it. I know you're thirsty, but I can't get you water now. Maybe in the morning."

She didn't mean for Cato to overhear, but he looks over his shoulder at her. She doesn't look back. Instead, she doubles over in pain at the next kick. It hates her. She can't take care of it, and it hates her.

Cato leaves her alone. While she pleads in whispers to her stomach, she notices that he's retrieved the discarded gift in the dirt and is inspecting it again in the moonlight. Searching for any possible answer. She's just as grumpy as he is, and she nearly snaps at him for wasting time on a useless gift. Water is what they need right now. If the gift doesn't lead to water, then…

It hits her like lightning, and she shoots upward. "A spile!" she cries.

Surprised by her outburst, everyone stops what they're doing to look at her. She hops to her feet and grabs the item from Cato, holding it up and repeating, "It's a spile!"

She has to explain to everyone where she's seen the item before. Her father used to use them to extract sap from the trees for syrup.

"But these trees aren't the same as the ones in 12…" Finnick trails off uncertainly.

They think about this for a moment and all arrive at the same conclusion. The trees in the arena don't contain sap. Judging by the "tree rat" they'd caught earlier who had just taken a drink, the trees are full of_ water_.

Tingling with enthusiasm, they rush to the nearest tree. Cato hammers a hole into the trunk with one of Mags' hooks. Finnick inserts the spile. Sure enough, the more they adjust the tool into the trunk, the steadier the stream of water that trickles out.

They whoop in excitement, careful of being too loud. They each take large gulps from the spile and eventually, Mags uses her woven basket to collect a great quantity of water. They wash their dirty, sweaty faces, drench their throats, and ultimately retreat to the campsite feeling more human.

"Is it still kicking you?" Cato asks her, his eyes dropping to her waist.

"No," she says, lowering her gaze as well. With a pat on her belly, she adds, "It must be happier now."

For just a second, his face illuminates with satisfaction, as if he was the one who figured out the purpose of the spile. But his expression fades just as quickly as it lit, and he offers to take first watch. He and Finnick argue back and forth for so long that Katniss finally steps up and says she'll do it. Both men look over and shake their heads, saying she needs her rest.

Despite her protests, Katniss is sent to bed while Finnick and Cato come to an agreement that both will stay up. Whoever tires first will sleep, though all five of them are aware that neither Finnick nor Cato intends to be the first to back down.

And so, Katniss settles into the hut built for five and sprawls out on the grass floor before curling into a ball on her side. With her bows and arrows safely by her side, she anticipates a brawl at some point between the two on guard.

But her intentions to put an end to it fail, because almost instantly, she is asleep.

* * *

The heat is what wakes her. She's not sure if it's minutes or hours later, but it must not be long, because a quick check of her weapons and surroundings informs her that Mags and Beetee are sound asleep while Finnick and Cato guard the hut. Both sit with their backs to her, and she moves slowly to undo her belt, careful not to alert them. The padding of the belt will act as a sufficient pillow while also relieving her middle from some heat.

She's still drowsy and feels much cooler, so it won't be long before she goes under again. But before she does, she tunes into a yawn.

"You tired?" Finnick asks.

"No," Cato answers.

"Sleep."

"I don't need to."

"You need to be strong tomorrow. For her."

There's a pause, and Katniss can imagine Cato glaring at Finnick in contempt. Finally, he asks scathingly, "What do you know?"

Finnick chuckles lightly. "Nothing, unfortunately. But you know this game – it's unpredictable. I know you'd be with 1 and 2 if it weren't for her, so if you're going to stand by her, you have to be strong."

"Why should I trust you to guard us?"

"Because I've had a trident all day and haven't used it on you yet. And trust me, there were times when I wanted to more than I do right now."

Cato sighs, but he shifts in the grass and Katniss knows he's conceded. "Fine," he agrees.

"Good night," Finnick whispers. Cato mutters the same in reply.

Then he crawls inside the hut and Katniss feels him settle in beside her. Though there isn't much space in the hut, his close presence unnerves her all the same. She opens one eye to double-check her weapons. Within arm's length. Good.

His breath hits her neck, but she doesn't mind it – he's far enough away that his breath is cold by the time it reaches her skin, and it cools her. But in a moment of alarm, she senses a shadow over her stomach. She opens an eye again to see his hand hovering there, looking for a resting place.

It doesn't find one.

Slowly, he withdraws his hand and she is left alone.

* * *

The second time she wakes, the cause is a nightmare. Enobaria and her malicious grin hunting her down. With her fangs sharp as nails, she lunges for Katniss to take a bite. Not for her neck, but for her stomach. She goes right for the baby.

Katniss is awake just as the deadly tribute makes impact. She gasps for air and reaches out for her bow. She's been quiet, but when she sits up, she finds that Cato is awake beside her, keeping track of her every move.

"It's nothing," she says, though she senses he wasn't about to ask. "Go back to sleep."

As she crawls toward the hut entrance, he mumbles after her, "I wasn't there in the first place."

Finnick is waiting outside the grass shelter, his head drooping and eyes lagging.

"Hey," she whispers. He snaps to attention. She lifts her bow to show him her readiness. "I'll take watch now."

"You should sleep," he argues, fighting a yawn. "You have the baby."

"I did sleep," she assures him. Reliving her nightmare, she shudders and adds, "I can't anymore."

He seems to understand, though he is reluctant to abandon his post. Eventually, he gathers his tridents and retreats into the woven cabin.

She settles against a tree trunk nearby, placing her plush belt between herself and the bark to support her lower back. With her bow and sheath in her lap, she lays out her daggers, rope, and awl beside her.

At first, she's on high alert, bristling at every sound and change in the breeze – which scarcely exists. After a few minutes, or maybe the better part of an hour, she grows accustomed to the noises of the jungle – the occasional odd twittering of tropical birds and the click of lizards. She relaxes against the tree and rests her eyes for minutes at a time. She fights the sleepiness as best as she can, but in the end, she can't help dozing for a few moments here and there. Not even the blare of the cannon can shake her from drowsiness. Pregnancy must be unable to withstand the traumas of the arena without a good night's sleep. Not a good thing, in these Games, and she knows she should prove to the sponsors that she is fit and prepared, physically and mentally.

By the time she resorts to furious blinking to force herself to stay awake, she has trouble spotting the rains moving in. When the pattering of droplets on leaves alerts her, she thinks little of it, looking forward to a cooling downpour to erase the humidity. She's right about that.

But it's the line of fog moving ahead of the rains that she should have been looking out for, because it's only when the fog gets too close that she notices its unusual qualities: it moves steadily forward, reaching and pulling itself along, faintly green in the moonlight.

Bythat point, it's too late. The fog has arrived. And when it hits, every exposed pore of her skin begins to scream.

She scrambles into the hut, knocking over the grass basket of water on her way. Finnick and Cato are on their feet at the noise, swords and tridents at the ready.

"Fog," she says as the noxious, gas-like substance drifts silently into the hut. "Poison."

Finnick is the first to react, locking his belt into place, gathering his tridents, and scooping Mags from the ground.

"We run," he says before he ducks out of the hut. "Help Beetee!"

Katniss is struggling to refasten her belt and tuck her daggers inside. And the spile. She needs to find the spile. Cato, who's already prepared to go, shakes the man on the floor.

"Get up!" he says roughly. "Stand! We're getting out of here!"

As Katniss feels along the woven grass for the spile, Cato drags the groggy man to his feet. He's already cursing at the fog and swatting it away without success.

Beetee still seems disoriented and unaware, and Cato has had enough. The moment Katniss finds the spile and stands, attaching it to her belt, he's got her arm and is hauling her out of the hut.

"What about Beetee?" she asks, wincing in pain as the full blast of the fog hits her.

"We have to go!" he says. "He's awake – he can follow us or not."

He tries to grab her again, but Katniss shies away just in time. "No! We're not leaving him."

Cato's eyes are murderous. "Katniss!" he shouts. "If we don't get out of here, we're going to _die_."

But Finnick had been so set on Beetee. For whatever reason, he thought the man was important to their alliance. There was a reason he risked his life to dive back into the water and retrieve him.

"Then go," she snaps. "I'll do it myself."

Beetee exits the hut, dazed and clearly in pain, and Katniss walks over to him and links arms.

"I can walk," he says. "Let's go."

The fog is beginning to make her dizzy, and it feels as though her flesh is ripping open inch by agonizing inch. Cato is no longer where he was – she assumes he's sprinted ahead, out of the fog. Maybe she'll never see him again.

It's just a passing thought, because by the time she and Beetee reach the trees, Cato is back, more exasperated than ever. He couldn't have gotten far before changing his mind.

Before she can say anything, he bends over and lifts the man over his shoulders – by no means an easy task. His face strains with exertion as he begins to move forward, stumbling at first, but then developing a rhythm.

"Run, damnit!" he yells at Katniss, and she doesn't need to be told twice.

They are racing down the slope as fast as they can move given the creeping, discombobulating fog. Trees whip past her and her mind seems to be whipping past, too. It's not the complete sedation of the tracker jacker venom from last year's Games – this is something different; a torturous consciousness as her body blisters and burns. She balls her hands into fists, her nails digging hard into her palms. Creating her own pain is a reminder to stay focused. She just has to make it past the fog.

Finnick is up ahead, she can see him now – he's slowed down to ensure his allies trail him. When they come into view, he begins to move again. Cato is right behind her. His ragged breaths and grunts are indication of that.

Suddenly she realizes how the fog is affecting her mind. Her arm jerks at her side, followed by a random twitch of her leg as she runs. Then she finds that she is shaking, barely in control of herself. Her limbs are moving of their own accord. She stayed longest in the thick of the fog, which must be why she is deteriorating so rapidly even as they move away from it.

Cato moves ahead of her, grunting for her to keep running. She tries – her nails are so far into her palms that she's drawn blood, which trickles down her blistering arms. With Cato and Beetee just ahead of her, she concentrates solely on following his footsteps. But his strides are too long, and she stumbles over branches and nothing at all. Though she tries with all her might to keep her legs moving one in front of the other, another twitch sends her crashing to the ground.

Cato turns from up ahead and calls out to her. She pushes herself up and runs all of three steps before she's sent tumbling to the ground, breathing so hard from such exertion that she fears her lungs will burst.

With another valiant attempt to stand that has her leaning heavily on a tree trunk, she sees Cato place Beetee on the ground. In a second, he races back to her and scoops her up.

"What are you doing," she gasps.

"You can't walk," he says. She can't argue with that, but before they've even caught up to Beetee, he has fallen. His limbs, too, seem to be out of control.

With Mags over his shoulders, Finnick circles around to meet them again.

"We need to keep moving!" he says. "The fog is still rolling in!"

"God damnit, we're trying!" Cato growls.

"Put me down," Katniss says. "I can walk."

Because she's struggling against him, he does as she says. The moment her feet touch the ground, the rest of her crumples.

Cato is quick to grab her, hiking her to a standing position. His face is covered in blisters, and she's sure hers is as well, though at this point, the burning is so intense that she actually feels a tingling coolness all over.

He's shaking – with anger or from the effects of the fog, she's not sure – and says frantically to Finnick, "We have to get out of here."

"We can't leave Beetee," Finnick says.

"I can't take both of them. I can only take Katniss."

She wants to tell them it's okay, she can walk, she can take care of herself, but her vision is clouded with fuzzy black spots and her throat seems to be blistering, too.

Panicking, Finnick tries to load Beetee onto his back as well, and the man tries to help all he can. Though he's small, he's stocky, and it's too much for even the strongest of tributes.

"I can't," Finnick says, his eyes the clearest she's ever seen them – shining with tears. "I can't carry both."

In an instant, the decision is made. He places Mags delicately on the ground and she gives him a kiss. In the bravest act Katniss has ever seen, she walks unsteadily the way they came, straight into the fog.

Katniss wants to scream. She needs to know what really just happened – if Mags is truly gone.

But there's no time.

Cato hikes her onto his back, instructing, "Hold onto me." Ahead of Finnick and Beetee, they take off.

She can't rely on her hands to secure her, so she intertwines her arms and pulls herself as close as she can, adapting to his movements to prevent herself from sliding off. She bites her lip to keep herself conscious and locks her legs around him as tightly as she can, though they twitch uncontrollably now.

Cato's body is failing him, too. She rises with every heaving breath he takes and feels his legs quiver underneath her. One of his arms seems to be beyond help and droops lifelessly at his side. As they race through the jungle, he uses trees and branches as he passes to keep himself upright and steady.

And then it becomes too much, even for him. When they reach a clearing and the lake is in sight, he can't hold himself together anymore. They both go crashing to the ground.

Cato grunts, bearing most of the impact, but Katniss lets out an "Oof!" herself and is able to roll off to give him breathing room. It's not long before Finnick and Beetee collapse beside them.

They lie there in agony for a long while, unable to move. With her cheek in the dirt, she looks at Cato beside her, his eyes closed and his breathing just as heavy as it was tearing through the jungle. He holds a sword in his good hand, his fingers still wrapped protectively around it though his body continues to spasm.

It's Beetee, surprisingly, who is the first to move. He sees the body of water ahead and begins to crawl down the slope toward it. The others, somehow, follow him. Katniss is so lifeless that she feels she will never walk again, but somehow she can drag her spastic body down the hill in the black of night.

The last hundred feet to the lake are torturous – for all of them, she realizes, noting the pulsing veins in Cato's neck – but they all make it there, eager to soothe their skin in the water. But as soon as they touch it – some with the tip of a finger, others with a whole hand – they all recoil collectively, hissing in pain, and back away. The saltwater sends sharp burning sensations up her arm, as if the skin there is opening anew. Finnick and Cato, who suddenly seem to be the worst off, simply lie on their stomachs and drop their heads. They are out of strength, out of determination, out of everything but the pain that dominates their every breath.

Beetee is the only one brave enough to try the water again. From her place next to Cato, Katniss watches him with one eye open as he dips in a finger. He doesn't make a sound, but she hears the grinding of his teeth. After his index finger has been submerged for a minute or two, he lays his palm flat against the water, and then, with a groan of pain, dunks his entire hand under.

If he can bear the pain, then it must be worthwhile. She scuttles forward to get a closer look and sees a creamy substance in the water, evaporating from his skin. The poison. The saltwater is extracting it.

And so she begins as Beetee did, first with one finger, then with her whole hand. The agony is so excruciating at first that she bites her lip and draws blood again. But she follows Beetee's lead and is patient, finding that she feels marginally better every passing minute.

In the dark of night, they abandon their jumpsuits and stand in their undergarments in order to fully detoxify their bodies. Katniss starts with her forearms and then goes back to her feet, her legs, her torso. Using the belt as a flotation device, she finally gets up to her neck and her head. When she is finally courageous enough to dunk her head underwater, she's thankful that the liquid muffles her screams.

She comes up feeling renewed, and does it again and again, gargling water in her throat and opening her eyes underwater, ensuring that she purges every part of her body affected by the fog. There's a kick in her stomach, and she mutters to the baby that it will have to wait for now – she can't hunt just yet, not in this condition.

Beetee is out of the water first. He tries to drag Finnick to the water but realizes it's a fruitless task. Instead, he brings the water to Finnick, dumping just a small portion on his hands. The fog seems to seep out of his skin and float in ominous wisps of air.

Following his ingenious example, Katniss does the same for Cato, gathering as much water she can in her cupped palms and pouring it onto his hand. Cato gasps, his head jerking and arm spasming from the pain. If he has this averse a reaction, then Finnick must be out cold. Beetee has a far easier job than she.

The intellectual tribute from 3 takes one of Cato's knives and cuts Finnick out of his jumpsuit and then Cato. He then hunts along the shore, returning a couple of minutes later with a shell for both himself and Katniss, so that they can better scoop water. Wordlessly, they begin the long task of purging the paralyzing fog from Finnick's and Cato's skin.

Though Finnick has blacked out, Beetee takes great care not to pour too much water on him at once. Too much pain can kill a person, conscious or not. Katniss has no choice but to be careful with water amounts, because Cato reacts harshly each time. He can't speak, but he moans, groans, and hisses rather unkindly. Eventually, he has the strength to turn his face toward her in the dirt. He can't keep his eyes open for great lengths of time, but he can always manage to sneer and snarl at her when she returns with another shell full of miracle water.

After she does a preliminary purge on his hands and arms, she goes to his back. By this point, he realizes that the saltwater is helping rather than harming him, so he no longer growls at her. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and purses his lips, withstanding the immense pain he's put through as any Career has been taught to do. Every so often, he releases a gasping breath, his eyes flying open and his chest heaving.

She's jealous of Beetee's patient. If only Cato were unconscious like Finnick.

Once the poison is mostly leeched out of his back, she tells him he'll have to turn over. It takes him a moment, but he complies, rolling over onto his back. She goes to work on his chest and he watches her through heavy lids. His focus on her is unnerving, but she concentrates on the task at hand and does her best to ignore his stare.

So desperate to look anywhere else, she finds herself fixated on a scar on his waist. A stab wound. It is from a different arena - one where, atop the Cornucopia, she plunged an arrow into his side.

Hs gaze drifts away from her and to the jungle – but it's not long before his eyes are again trained to her face. In the darkness, she can pretend his chest isn't hard as rock; that he can't overcome her with a simple flick of his wrist.

He opens his mouth to make a sound, but no real words come out. She encourages him to gargle the water, and he takes a gulp from the shell, only to choke on it and spit it out. He's not there yet.

"Don't speak, then," she instructs.

Cato doesn't listen. "If they come for us now, what do you do?" His voice is raw and scratchy, but she won't ask him to repeat his question – she knows well enough that he speaks of the Careers, their greatest threat.

She gestures beside her in the sand. "I have my bow and sheath right here."

If the truth be told, it's crossed her mind in the hour or so they've been stationed in plain view by the lake. In their sorry state, the Careers could easily take them out one by one with almost no struggle.

"They'd overpower you," Cato says.

"Not if I take them out one-by-one before they even reach us," she counters, watering his ribcage for the fourth or fifth time. The pain is not so prominent there anymore.

"No, Fire Girl," he dismisses her. Even incapacitated and at her mercy, his voice still stings with arrogance and frigidity. "Odds are against you. You don't gamble like that. Career Training 101: you find a way to get yourself out. You survive."

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And leave you?"

He nods, grimacing as she pours onto his abdomen for the first time.

With a sigh, she says, "I don't know how to leave anyone behind while their heart is still beating."

He rolls his eyes, grumbling, "I've noticed."

She nearly smiles at that. When he asks for the shell again, she watches him swish the water in his mouth and again cough it up, unable to manage the gruelling pain. His arms twitch and his leg jerks as he hands it back to her and she wonders if she should have just let him run out of the fog on his own from the hut.

"I'm sorry you had to carry me," she says, lowering her eyes.

"I'm not," he replies. "You're a hell of a lot lighter than Beetee."

"You could have run fast enough to escape the fog."

He lets his head loll to the side, staring at her as she fills up her shell and returns. "And then where would you be?"

She licks her lips and shrugs. "Career Training 101," she reminds him.

"I don't think they'd call me a Career anymore."

"Then what are you?"

He shakes his head in annoyance. "So far? Katniss Everdeen's bitch."

She can't help it this time. It rumbles in her stomach and crawls up her throat, and before she can stop herself, she laughs.

* * *

Finnick regains consciousness and he and Cato are finally able to move themselves into the water to purge their legs and faces themselves. Hanging onto their belts, the four of them float in the water for what must be over an hour, slowly returning to their former selves and regaining control of their bodies.

When the orange sun bursts into the horizon, they know it's time to move on. If the Careers haven't spotted them by now, they're sure to in the light of day.

Finnick weaves them another grass basket and Katniss goes with Cato to collect more water, the spile in her belt. They have to venture a few hundred yards into the jungle to find the proper tree to tap.

As Cato hammers in to drill a hole for the spile, he says to her in a low voice, "I don't trust Finnick."

She sighs, knowing that she would have to face their unusual alliance at some point. "Why not?"

"What happened last night? We couldn't carry all three of you, so he chooses Beetee over his district partner?"

The same thoughts have plagued her, though she won't admit it to Cato. Why_ did_ Finnick want Beetee around? She wishes she could talk to Haymitch – he would have an idea or two. From being a mentor all those years, he might even know of the strongest friendships amongst the tributes. But as far as she can tell, Beetee the quiet intellectual and Finnick the charming playboy are an unlikely pair.

If only to play devil's advocate, she points out, "He's probably thinking the same about you. You left Enobaria to come with us."

He gives her a sidelong glance. "I think the reasons for that are a little more obvious."

She merely shrugs.

"It was almost as if they planned it," he continues, stepping away from the tree so that she can insert the spile. "Mags was all too willing to give up and walk into the fog. Finnick didn't even try to convince her otherwise."

"I doubt it was planned," Katniss argues. "He feels better physically, but he's barely said a word all morning. I think he's devastated."

"She was too old. He knew at some point he would have to let go. But why do it for Beetee?"

Katniss adjusts the spile in the tree until a dribble of water turns into a stream. "I don't know," she admits.

Leaning against the tree trunk, Cato folds his arms across his chest and watches her. When her eyes finally meet his, he says, "We could run away. You and me."

She blinks, a frown crossing her face. For a moment, she could have sworn he was someone else. Those words leaving his lips sounded just like Gale's, and her heart twists and aches at the sound of them.

"We can't," she says, unable to admit that she fears being alone with him more than she fears being in the company of deceivers. He opens his mouth to argue and she adds, "Not yet. If they're planning something, they can't do much about it now while they're recovering."

"Why stick around?" he argues. "We can manage by ourselves. You hunt, I fight."

She shoots him a glare. "I can fight, too."

There's no time for him to utter an infuriating response. While water continues to slide into their woven basket, a silver parachute floats in from overhead. Katniss points to it. Cato's gaze drifts upward just as the gift falls gracefully into his hands.

"Must be yours," she muses, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Careers are always heavy favourites for sponsors.

He opens the wrapping to reveal a mini-meal: cheese, sliced meat, and bread. Cato flashes her a smug grin and she nearly swats the food from his hands and into the dirt. Self-satisfied elite.

"You see?" he says. "Why do you think he sent this while we were away from the others? This is Brutus telling us we should get away. He knows we're in a dangerous position."

"Maybe he's just being a prick," she offers with a simpering smile.

"Read the signs, Fire Girl," Cato groans, taking a bite of cheese. He leans back against the tree, enjoying his meal. Katniss grits her teeth and tries to block her nose from smelling the fresh, inviting scent of the bread.

While she finishes up with the spile, Cato retrieves a small card left with the meal. He reads it briefly, scowls, and shreds it, leaving the remains under a nearby rock. Katniss doesn't ask.

That's when her own parachute arrives. As she watches it fall from the sky, she notices that her eyes aren't the only ones fixated. Above them, high in the trees, are monkeys. Hundreds of them. Enough to seriously unnerve her.

But her stomach is rumbling fiercely, and she's more concerned about that. The instant the parachute reaches her hands, she unwraps it, nearly salivating at the thought of meats and cheese. But she is sorely disappointed. Inside the wrapping is a tub of ointment, and there is no accompanying note to explain its purpose.

_A little late, Effie_, she thinks bitterly. _We've already purged ourselves from the fog_.

Cato snickers. She glares at him, but is forced to conclude that her new mentor is not quite as clever as Haymitch. With a sigh, she secures the small tin in her belt for now. There must be a war amongst the mentors today. Sometimes, when tributes of different districts are allied, the mentors pool their resources and send gifts together… but it's clear Effie has not made this arrangement with Brutus. She probably sent the ointment on a whim, just to prove she could.

"Here," Cato says, pushing himself away from the tree trunk to hand her half of his bread.

Suspicious of the gesture, she eyes him warily.

"Take it," he says, adding some meat and cheese as well.

She shakes her head. "It's yours. You have it."

He gives her a bored look that reads: _your self-sacrificial nonsense is tiring. _

He won't back down, so finally, she accepts the offer and breathes in the welcoming scent of fresh bread. "Thank you," she says quietly, enjoying a savoury bite.

"You're welcome."

Cato finishes his meal first, and then he's content to lean his back against that tree again and watch her. She doesn't care. The food is heavenly, and with every bite, she feels revived, stronger. Somewhere in the Capitol, Effie is shrieking at her through the screen to mind her awful, caveman-like manners.

She doesn't waste a crumb. When she's finished, she places a hand on her stomach, hoping the baby is satisfied for now.

"What?" she asks Cato, finally acknowledging his uninterrupted stare.

"Nothing," he says, but his earth-shattering gaze doesn't stray.

She's about to shrug and gather the basket when he straightens, tugs on her wrist to keep her attention and brings his lips to hers.

At first, she's too surprised to react. Then she wonders if this is what sharing his food was about. That's all the ammunition she needs to bite into his lip – _hard_. He pulls back instantly, hissing in pain.

But they keep it together for the cameras, which would have only seen a lover's kiss onscreen.

Katniss lifts the basket and heads out of the jungle, and Cato follows. They don't exchange another word, but she's sure she hears him mutter bitterly, "It was Brutus's idea."

Of course. She should have known that was what was written on the card – that was what made Cato scowl. Brutus wants them to play up their romance.

She doesn't have time to think of what Cato stands to gain by this. She is too distracted by the hundreds of orange monkeys leering at them from the trees.

* * *

It's Cato who triggers them. As a boy from the urban life of District 2, he doesn't know that eye contact can prompt certain creatures to attack. All it takes is for him to scan his eyes upward and breathe, "What the hell…", and the monkeys begin to shriek. They leap from tree to tree, scale down vines, and in dozens, they converge.

Katniss drops the basket of water and has her bow primed in an instant. She begins to take them out before they can close in. But there are too many of them – far too many – and when they charge, Cato is ready with his swords.

Even that is not enough.

Arrow by arrow, she knocks out the monkeys, but they are large creatures, at least half her size with claws like knives. They stink of jungle musk and bare their sharp, flesh-crunching teeth, and she knows this could be it – this could be the end.

Until Finnick comes barrelling through the jungle, trident at the ready and knife in the other hand. He slashes the monkeys again and again until he's made a path for himself to join Cato and Katniss. He throws Katniss her second sheath of arrows, warning them that the monkeys are not real – they're mutts. Objects of the gamemakers' control.

With that in mind, Katniss aims with a vengeance, making every arrow count. If she dies now, she will die fighting – that's what her mockingjay token represents.

A monkey claws at her back, and she gasps as it grabs a hold of her – only to fall in a heap at her feet. Someone took care of it for her.

_Remember who the enemy is_, Haymitch had said. Now it's clear to her. She battles not against her fellow tributes, but ultimately, against the Capitol.

Katniss, Cato, and Finnick stand with their backs to one another in order to defend against the monkeys from every angle. They grunt and groan amidst the monkeys' calls, and Katniss can sense their frustration that they don't seem to be making a dent in the stock of their attackers. The more they kill, the more seem to appear. Her fingers quiver on the bow now, slippery with sweat. The air is thick with the stench of death, orange-furred corpses strewn across the jungle floor.

There's a groan from behind her, then a strangled yell. She takes out the monkey nearest to her and turns, seeing a group of them converging on Cato – one already has its fangs in his leg.

On instinct, she shoots. The one on his leg falls, and then she takes out two others until he's regained his composure. Breathing raggedly, he stares at her for just one imploring moment before returning to the task at hand.

She turns back to her post to see a monkey sliding off a vine, straight toward her. Fumbling with her bow, she's not sure she'll make it in time. She winces, preparing herself for what is to come.

And then the strangest thing happens. The monkey never meets her. It never gets the chance. Before she can prep her bow, someone jumps out in front of her to block the attack – weapon-less, using only her body as a shield. It's not Cato, nor is it Finnick. It's only when the monkey has delivered a fatal bite to her chest that Katniss realizes that, from nowhere, the female Morphling from District 6 has saved her life.

* * *

Where did she come from? There are questions that rack their brains as Cato puts the Morphling out of her excruciating misery with a mercy kill and they deposit her in the lake to be collected by Capitol hovercraft.

Why did she save her? Finnick gathers her arrows from the dead monkeys along with the rest of their weapons and rinses off the blood in the water.

Why were the monkeys so quick to retreat, and where did they go? Beetee volunteers to fetch the water this time and takes the spile while Katniss ties a cut of material around Cato's calf, openly bleeding after a monkey sunk its fangs into his flesh.

How would they have survived the attack, if it were just she and Cato on their own? When they return to their meeting place by the lake, Katniss digs Effie's ointment out of her belt and they apply it liberally to their wounds. Katniss has claw marks on her back and Finnick has a huge gash on his forehead. Not to mention, while the saltwater has sucked the fog's poison out of their skin, it has also left them with red welts on their skin that are beginning to scab over… and itch like crazy.

Maybe Effie _did_ know what she was doing with that gift.

But it doesn't seem to help. The ointment warms and thins in their hands and burns as it slides onto their skin. When they can no longer withstand the pain, they simply decide to conk out on the beach. Finnick again offers to take watch, and this time, no one argues – it's the first proper moment he's had to think about losing Mags, and it's obvious the emotion is finally hitting him. Hard.

She is pleasantly surprised by the comfort of her sandy bed, finding that it moulds to her body and cushions exactly the right places. Now that there is no fog or screaming monkeys to worry about, she is acutely aware of just how sore she is. There is a dull ache in her lower back that won't go away. Her ankles feel lumpy and large, as though they're swelling. Although she rolls her shoulders and stretches her arms, there's a permanent kink in her neck. She wants to lie on her back, because that's how her backache is best soothed, but the only way she feels she can support her stomach is when she lies on her side and brings up her knees.

"What's wrong?" Cato asks next to her, irritated by her constant shifting.

"I'm uncomfortable," she snaps, suddenly hating him because_ he_ did this to her. "I hate being pregnant."

His face is covered in scabs, and she's sure she doesn't look much more attractive. But he doesn't pick at them, and instead suggests, "Maybe I can ask Brutus for medicine…"

She glares at him for his ignorance. "I don't need medicine. I need to not have something living inside of me."

He purses his lips but doesn't lash out at her, though he has every right to. It's not his fault – not really. It all comes down to Snow.

He moves closer to her in the sand, and she knows he is about to say something he doesn't want the cameras to hear. "Would you have married him, if it weren't for this?"

It's a vague question, but she doesn't need him to elaborate. Instantly, she knows he is speaking of Gale and their double-victory in the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games.

"No," she replies. Although everyone in the Seam assumed they would one day wed… She changes her response to, "Yes." But she never really wanted to get married, even before Prim was reaped and she volunteered to take her place. So she finishes off with a weak, "I don't know."

Cato thinks about this for a minute. His lips close to her ear, he says in a low, scratchy voice, "They're watching us now." She tenses, knowing he is referring not to other tributes in the jungle, but to the audience in Panem. He continues, "I'm going to put my arm around you."

This act is exhausting, if only because she continuously forgets that they are supposed to be in love. Thinking back to his insistence at the Cornucopia, his fretting as she climbed the trees, and lagging behind to wait for her and then carrying her down the slope in the fog, it seems that Cato hasn't forgotten for a second. He knows what is important for the Capitol viewers to see.

"Okay," she whispers in acquiescence. She's too tired to figure out whether he can somehow use this against her. For now, she will play the part of pregnant fiancée in love.

She rolls over, her back to his chest, and he places an arm gently across her waist. It feels funny at first, but as she dozes off, she thinks that perhaps his hand doesn't feel so foreign on her belly after all.

* * *

Her swollen middle is untouched when she wakes, and she scans the area, confused by her surroundings. The sun is white-hot and blinding, so it takes her a while to adjust her vision in order to see Cato and Finnick searching for a meal along the shore, shellfish piled just above the tide. Beetee guards the pile while studying his own marks in the sand, drawn with the blunt end of one of Cato's knives.

When she approaches, Beetee wipes away his markings before she can see – a little suspicious, she remarks, but she'll worry about that later. For now, she has to get into the water before the ointment on her legs, arms and face burns her alive.

"It didn't work," Finnick tells her once she surfaces from underwater, wringing out her braid. "What kind of ointment is it?"

"It's not like it came with instructions," she replies with a roll of her eyes. But she worries about it. If the ointment Effie sent was not to cure fog poisoning or monkey gashes, then what was it for?

She washes herself clean of the mystery substance. Though her skin no longer burns, it feels like tiny ants are crawling all over her. The itch drives her mad.

"Effie, I'm begging you," she says to the sky, "if there's anything that can help with this, please, _send it_."

As it turns out, there is… and she does. A parachute floats into her hands moments later, and she openly declares her mentor and the good people of the Capitol her saviours. Normally, she wouldn't bother, but a slight smile crosses her face when she thinks of how pleased Effie will be, thanked and praised on national television. Awful manners, indeed.

The other three join her on the beach, testing the ointment by placing a little bit of it on the back of their hands. They know it works immediately because it feels cool and smooth on their damaged skin.

"Hallelujah," Finnick breathes, throwing his head back in ecstasy as he rubs up and down his exposed chest. The viewers must love that, because as Katniss, Cato, and Beetee take turns rubbing the ointment on each others' backs, Finnick receives a gift from the skies.

Rolls of bread, straight from District 4 and embedded with seaweed. Finnick's eyes light up upon receiving the gift. He forgets about his scabs for the time being and takes the bread with him up further on the beach, holding it possessively under his arm. Katniss and Cato watch him curiously as he counts the number of rolls not once, not twice, but three times – but in the end, they don't question it and let him do whatever strange things he wants, as they already split a meal before the monkeys and Finnick ate nothing.

Beetee gathers the shellfish and Finnick calls them over to eat. He's split the bread evenly amongst them and divides the shellfish, too.

"Not too shabby a meal," he says with a grin.

Katniss would agree with him, but she's too busy inhaling her portion. She craves lamb stew or marinated duck from the Capitol, but this will have to do. Something about this phase of pregnancy has her ravenously hungry almost all the time. Quite an inconvenient side effect in the arena, she is learning.

Silence engulfs them as they munch away. Katniss is first to finish, and she places a hand on her belly and basks in the glow of a stomach no longer hollow. Without a word, Cato places one of his rolls on her lap.

She frowns, offering it back to him. He shakes his head. He wants her to eat it. She offers it again, just to be sure, but he won't be swayed. Unsure how to respond, she simply takes the roll and eats it.

He didn't have to do that.

Finnick hasn't yet finished applying the ointment, and Katniss is the one who volunteers to do his back. He leans forward in the sand as she gets on her knees behind him. The sensation is cooling and relieving – she can attest to that – but she has to roll her eyes as she rubs his shoulder blades, for the sounds that are coming from his mouth are bordering on inappropriate. Cato shakes his head, unimpressed.

"That's it," Finnick moans as she gets his neck. "Yes. Katniss… lower."

She snorts in amusement, and even Beetee smiles – Cato, however, finds no humour in this. Instead, he glares at the boy with the trident, finally announcing to Katniss that she's wasting all the ointment on Finnick's back.

Finnick winks at Katniss as she hands him the tin. He does the rest himself.

From their spot on the beach, they hear a thunderous sound, and Katniss is sure the ground underneath her shakes. Cato grabs his sword and is about to jump into a defensive position when Beetee points to the west and says, "Look."

Down the beach, through the jungle and up the hill, a tsunami is forming. A wave fifty feet tall forms from almost nothing, and comes crashing down with such force that Cato grabs a hold of Katniss' arm and pulls her back on the beach, even if only by a few feet. The wave crashes into the lake several hundred yards west of them and is nothing but ripples by the time it reaches their shore.

In the booming noise of the wave, they never heard the cannon. But sure as day, they watch a hovercraft materialize in the distance to retrieve a tribute. Another one dead and gone. She shuts her eyes for a brief moment and prays it's anyone but Haymitch.

Cato suggests they move again, back into the jungle. It's unsafe in the open, he says, especially with the Cornucopia nearby. The Careers are bound to find them and, as they've just witnessed, the arena is prone to tsunami-like waves that can pick them up and drown them in an instant.

No one else is receptive to the idea. Katniss agrees that they'd be better off concealed in the foliage of the jungle, but for now, in the afternoon sun, she's perfectly happy to stay where she is and sees no threat here. Finnick and Beetee, without offering reason, also wish to stay.

The argument escalates to the point where Cato loses himself, snarling at all of them and sticking his dagger in the sand. He's a Career, he reminds them, and he knows what he's talking about. He's thoroughly trained on the Games and how to survive in the arena. They should listen to him – if they were smart, they'd listen to him. If he was with the Careers, he'd find them in the open space in an instant and take them out in seconds.

But everyone else seems to think they'll be safe for just a couple more hours.

Infuriated, Cato stalks away to let off steam, swearing under his breath as he goes.

Finnick shrugs, his eyes twinkling. With a remarkably straight face, he comments to Katniss, "I can see why you're so attracted to him."

Katniss has to bite her lip from chuckling, which is still sore from purging herself in the saltwater. Instead, she throws the tin of ointment at him to shut him up.

* * *

At first sight of the two tributes emerging from the jungle and onto the beach, one being nearly dragged by the other, the four unlikely allies assume they are about to witness a murder and each grab hold of their respective weapons. But when a third tribute walks into the sun, haggard, limping, and miserable, Katniss orders everyone to lower their weapons.

"Haymitch!" she cries, and Cato is quick to grab a hold of her and slap a hand over her mouth. She struggles for a moment before ripping his hand away by the wrist. He doesn't have to say it – he's worried about any lurking tributes nearby who may now be aware of their location, not to mention his inherent suspicions of the three tributes down the beach. But she doesn't care. Haymitch is alive, and he is within reach.

She shouts his name again, and Finnick finds the face of a friend among the three wandering tributes, as well: Johanna Mason. Together, they race toward the ragtag trio, with Cato hot on their heels, demanding to be heard without success.

Haymitch and Johanna are accompanied by Wiress, Beetee's tribute partner who was slightly off her rocker before entering the arena and who now appears to have dived off the cliff of insanity. She walks with uneven footing, as if in a constant daze, mumbling strange phrases to herself. While Haymitch maintains a permanent grimace, Johanna cannot stand the older woman and repeatedly snaps at her to shut her mouth and walk straight.

Katniss races into Haymitch's arms and, though he grunts in pain, she doesn't care. Finally, someone she trusts without question. Someone who knows of home.

All three tributes are worse for wear, and with Effie's ointment turning their skin green and causing their scabs to peel, she's certain the trio is thinking the same about them – but there's another detail she'd skimmed over when assessing their condition.

They are soaked, head to toe, in a thick red substance. Blood.

Johanna explains to Finnick, in frantic, excited speech, that all of a sudden, it began to rain in their section of the jungle. Blood rain. This was after she and Blight – her district partner from 8 – had risked their lives to rescue Wiress from the bloodbath, with Johanna taking a knife in her bicep, Haymitch had barrelled into their alliance in escaping from another strange arena horror – giant beetles, thousands of them, that converged like the monkeys with venomous bites to top it off – and Blight had had an unfortunate confrontation with the force field and died.

"I'd given up looking for you hours ago," Johanna says to Finnick, and then gestures her chin in Katniss' direction. Katniss looks to Haymitch in confusion, who shrugs. "I was on the hunt for Enobaria just now. When I see her, I'll chop her into pieces. Not only for the knife in my arm – which hurts like a bitch, by the way – but for not killing Nuts over here when she had the chance. Do you know what a pain it's been dragging her through this death trap?"

Katniss gives Wiress a n apologetic glance, but finds that the woman recognizes Beetee and hands him a small object from her belt. A coil of thin, golden wire. Beetee's eyes brighten.

"Tick, tock," Wiress tells him.

"Tick, tock," Johanna repeats, her tone mocking. "We get it."

"Why did you save her, then?" Katniss can't help but ask. She's certainly glad the female from 3 was spared, but is again unsure of this unlikely alliance between Haymitch, Johanna and Wiress.

Johanna's muddy brown eyes leave Finnick's and come to rest on her as a slow, sarcastic smile spreads across her features. "For _you_," she replies. Katniss barely has time to process this before Johanna adds, "You're welcome."

"Tick, tock," Wiress says again.

"Tick, tock," Johanna repeats. Gritting her teeth, she grabs the tribute's shoulders and gives her a push. Wiress flies into Beetee, who's so enthralled with his wire that he ends up on his behind in the sand.

"Hey!" Katniss cries, taking a step forward. "Lay off her."

Johanna's eyes turn molten. Before Katniss can react, she slaps her across the face, exclaiming, "Do you know what I've been through for _you_, you ungrateful—"

With a shout, Cato pushes his way to the front of the tributes, sword drawn, and is just about to end Johanna's miserable life when Finnick grabs him.

"You don't touch her!" he says, dropping his sword in order to struggle free from Finnick.

The sting of the slap has rendered Katniss momentarily paralyzed, and she brings her hand to her cheek, flexing her jaw. The skin feels hot and raw.

Cato breaks free of Finnick's grasp by a backwards kick to his shin and then an elbow in his gut, and while Finnick doubles over, Cato charges at Johanna again. This time, it's Haymitch who grabs hold of him before he can cause any real damage.

Furious, Cato thrashes in Haymitch's arms and overpowers him easily, shoving him away with such force that Haymitch is sent tumbling into the sand.

Before Cato can reach for his sword, Katniss springs into action, realizing that this confrontation can escalate in a matter of seconds. With a yelp, she jumps in front of him, standing before Johanna. Cato makes a quick move around her, but she is quick, too, and places herself between him and the vicious tribute from 7 again.

"Stop," she commands, placing her hands flat on his chest and trying to distance the two enemies. Cato doesn't offer her so much as a glance, but he keeps his sword by his side and takes a step back. His icy eyes are on his opponent, unflinching, but with a few more words from Katniss – "It's nothing. It's okay. Don't." – he finally backs away entirely and, nostrils flaring, mutters something unkindly under his breath.

Johanna, who's stood rooted in her spot throughout the fiasco, merely raises her eyebrows in surprise. While everyone regains composure, she asks plainly, "Who the hell invited_ him_?"

* * *

Haymitch and Johanna cleanse themselves in the water while Finnick gathers shellfish. Katniss and Beetee help Wiress scrub the dried blood from her skin while the others eat a hearty meal. All the while, Cato sits on his own, his cerulean eyes so icy not even a pickaxe could tap in, sword at the ready on his lap. He doesn't bother to put his jumpsuit back on – none of them do, after the fog picked them apart – but with only an undershirt on his upper half, exposing his muscular shoulders, rounded biceps and the veins protruding from his forearms, he appears ever more threatening.

"What's going on, Haymitch?" Katniss asks once they finally have a moment alone in the water. She is trying to scour her peeling skin while he's rinsing his bloody jumpsuit.

"A whole lot, sweetheart," he replies with a patient nod.

She rolls her eyes. "For the past day, all I've wanted was to talk to you, to get some answers… and that's all you've got?"

"That's all," he admits.

She groans. "Okay, let me be more specific." She wants to ask him what Finnick stands to gain in allying with her and why Haymitch gave him the mockingjay bracelet, but she's not sure that conversation is best had in a nationally televised manner. Instead, she asks, "What are you doing with Johanna? And why would she go to all that trouble to save Wiress?"

"I ran into Johanna, Blight, and Wiress on my way from the beetles."

"Why ally with them?"

Haymitch gives her a tedious look. "It was three against one, sweetheart, and Johanna had the axe. It was make friends or die."

"Why wouldn't they kill _you_?"

"Because they knew having me with them would be another way to get you to trust them."

Katniss frowns, holding her breath to submerge her head. When she surfaces, she says, "Why would they care to ally with me?"

"Because, while I can't say I've been an entirely successful mentor these past twenty-something years, I've damn sure learned the art of persuasion," Haymitch says with a wink.

She recalls the days of training in the Capitol and how she'd often wonder to where Haymitch had scampered off. Perhaps he was doing more behind-the-scenes work than she realized. He truly did want her to get out alive.

Katniss mulls this over as she scrubs her arms. "Is Johanna going to kill Finnick? Or Beetee?"

Haymitch shrugs, unconcerned. "Not if you don't want her to."

"Should I, then? Should I trust her?"

"No," Haymitch replies. "You don't trust anyone in the arena." He lowers himself in the water and rises just by her ear. Lowering his voice to evade the cameras, he adds, "But if we're being subjective, I'd say you should put more trust in her than you would in, say, your fiancé over there."

Sensing Cato's eyes on them, she refuses to glance in his direction. Instead, she holds herself back from throttling Haymitch in frustration. "You _wanted_ me to ally with him!" she hisses.

"No – I wanted you to make nice with him in front of the cameras. He's not an ally; he's a Career."

"Well, you should have made that clear!" she whispers back through clenched teeth.

"_I did!_" he cries in a whisper. "What did I say? I said he has his own agenda. Born a Career, die a Career."

Katniss splashes him with a vengeance. "If that's making things clear—"

"No matter what I say, you don't listen to me," he interrupts her. "You're the stubborn, pain-in-the-ass daughter I never had. And look at what I've had to do, sneaking around and making your alliances for you behind your back!"

She opens her mouth to argue, but she realizes he has a point. The way Haymitch sees it, she never accepts his guidance. Without her cooperation, he's gone about saving her in his own way.

"Fine," she says sullenly, dunking her head once again and then gathering her hair to re-braid it. "What do I do, then? You tell me."

"You can start by never putting yourself between Cato and one of his targets again," Haymitch mutters. "When he wants to kill, he'll kill. Anything in his way stands to be destroyed."

Katniss would agree with him, had the altercation between Cato and Johanna not happened earlier that day. She should have been afraid, standing in front of him with his wielding sword, but she wasn't. Something had her believing that he wasn't going to harm her. Especially not after Johanna's slap was what riled him in the first place. He may kill her yet – that, she doesn't know – but if he does, he'll do it just the way he intended to in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games: on his own terms, in his own way. If he has any say in it, she's suddenly certain that no one else will have the privilege of harming a hair on her head.

"Otherwise, you stay with the group," Haymitch continues. "We're all allies for now, so until the field is smaller, you're safe here. And I'll be damned if one of them gets a hand on you after all the trouble I've been through to keep you alive."

She cracks a smile, shaking her head at her mentor. Of course, she'd prefer him to be in the safety of the Capitol, organizing sponsor gifts for her behind a screen… but she's also glad he's here. Speaking with him has brought upon some realizations that she may not have made otherwise.

* * *

When it's dark, Katniss offers to keep first watch. Once everyone has settled into sleep, she wishes she hadn't – her lower back aches terribly, her ankles are like balloons, and the crick in her neck pulses with discomfort. Pregnancy was never meant for her, that much is clear.

But alone in the black night, she can hear the cannon boom far off in the distance, and she can say a silent prayer to whomever the arena has just claimed. In another section of the jungle, the rains pour heavily and lightning strikes.

"Tick, tock," Wiress says from beside her. She's the only one not sleeping, and the only one not fit to keep guard on her own.

"Tick, tock," Katniss agrees in a whisper.

With Wiress awake, she's not really alone. And even though her back is to him, she knows without a glance that Cato does not sleep. She wonders how he's still functioning on their second night in the arena. He's such a finely trained Career, so alert for danger that he doesn't sleep without earplugs – and that's when he's in safety. In the arena, she imagines he never shuts his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time.

Paranoid that she's being watched, she looks at him over her shoulder. His eyes are closed and he does not flinch. Her gaze lingers on him for a few moments, just to be sure, but he's breathing evenly and does not seem disturbed. No one can stay awake forever, no matter the dangers that threaten them.

Even with scabs peppering his face, he's still attractive – for some reason, that undeniable fact annoys her. Everything about him is so strong. So carefully sculpted. He acts with precision… until he flies off the handle. His anger is not under control, so it must be something his trainers encouraged him to act upon. When his eyes spark with rage, he resembles his brute of a father. But without his searing blue eyes, resting peacefully in the sand, there are shades of his mother in him. Shades that he's probably never seen before.

It must be midnight by now. From her position in the lowest part of the arena, she can't be sure where the monkeys are or if the fog is seeping or if the blood rain is falling. But if anyone is caught in that electrical lightning storm, she hopes they're running. This arena is alive with the gamemakers' trickery.

The lightning seems to be occurring in the same place it did before, earlier that day as they were feasting on a lunch of shellfish and bread. It's near where Johanna, Haymitch, and Wiress appeared from the jungle, soaked in blood from the red rains.

Always occurring in the same place. The lightning struck around lunch and strikes again at midnight. She frowns, searching the circular arena on the edge of an epiphany.

"Tick, tock," Wiress says again.

Katniss gasps. Wiress is right: _tick, tock_. The arena is a clock. Divided into sections like the spokes surrounding the Cornucopia. Each section comes alive at a certain time of day and night with a fresh new horror.

If she's right – and she knows she is – then they have to move downward. Whatever section they're in, she won't take the risk of another surprise attack. They have to move down, down to the Cornucopia, the center of the arena, where they can be safe.

She rouses the others without a moment's hesitation. When she has their attention, she explains Wiress' theory of the twelve sections of the arena, each section striking twice in a twenty-four hour period. Like a clock.

Johanna scoffs and rolls her eyes throughout the explanation, but Finnick thinks it's a good idea to travel to the Cornucopia – that way, they can have a good view of the arena to judge if the theory is correct, and if it is, then they'll be safer in the middle.

But Johanna's not entirely convinced, and when she and Katniss butt heads again, Johanna claims that she doesn't care if she's knocked up, she'll rip her throat out.

Whether or not Johanna was looking for a brawl, she nearly gets one. Katniss tightens her grip on her own blade just as Cato snaps to attention, lunging for Johanna so fast, there's no time for anyone to stop him. They're wrestling on the ground by the time Finnick and Haymitch grab holds of their collars and separate them. Cato is not at all happy to be restrained by Haymitch yet again, but he relaxes his shoulders and makes no further attempts to murder Johanna. However, he does utter her a stiff warning rife with foul language, which, for the most part, instructs her to keep her mouth shut.

The axe-wielding tribute from District 7 has been overruled, so all seven of them gather their things and destroy the evidence of their stay. Katniss swings her bows over her shoulder and ensures that she has both tubs of ointment and the spile in her belt.

As she works, she muses that an alliance of seven is almost unheard of in the Hunger Games. There are too many of them to cooperate, especially with Johanna and Cato thrown into the mix. If they manage to hunt down the other tributes and are the only seven left, they'll have to kill each other, alliance or not.

She thinks of who she could kill if she had to. Johanna, probably – though she's a fierce fighter, Katniss would not weep over her lifeless body. Wiress and Beetee, though not ancient, are not in peak condition and can get themselves killed off without her intervention, though she does not look forward to those moments in time. Finnick, she could have killed yesterday at the Cornucopia – and should have, because in a short period of time, she's come to realize that perhaps he's a good ally to have. She's not sure if she could kill him and can only hope that he's taken out in another battle, as crude as it sounds. Haymitch, absolutely not, and the thought of harming a hair on his head makes her shudder.

And Cato… she doesn't want to think about that. Another showdown between herself and Cato. If she's stupid enough not to distance herself from him before they reach the final two, then she deserves to die by his hand – and he'll make sure she does this time.

No matter what, an alliance of seven is not tight enough. There's too much room for someone to turn and too many lives to defend and then destroy. Soon, she must make her move and get out.

She leads the way to the Cornucopia, with Beetee and Wiress still half-asleep and Johanna reluctantly dragging her feet. It's Cato who jogs forward to catch up with her, sword firmly in his grasp as always. They exchange a glance, his stare chilling her to her core, as though he can see right through her. Read her every thought with perfect clarity.

Katniss is the one to break the stare, and silently, they continue on their path.

* * *

The Cornucopia is picked clean of supplies, but just to be sure, Finnick and Johanna venture inside to feel around in the dark. Dawn is beginning to break – which seems impossible, as Katniss could have sworn it was midnight not more than an hour ago, but the gamemakers can do as they please.

In the scant light, Cato picks up a stick and calls Katniss over. While drawing the arena in the sand – the Cornucopia in the center, the lake and beach surrounding, and then the circular jungle outlining the periphery – he asks Katniss to repeat her clock theory to him so that he can fully understand.

So she does, and together, they map out the spokes extending from the Cornucopia that divide the arena into twelve sections. The lightning strikes at midnight, and they go from there. Together, they've experienced the fog and the monkeys, so they plot it on the clock as best they can. Haymitch joins them and points out where he thinks the poisonous beetles were. Finnick has a fairly good sense of when the tsunami occurred, and Johanna knows where the blood rain falls. That's six tricks, leaving six unknowns.

Beetee offers suggestions on what kind of evils they might expect in the other sections given that they haven't heard any of its traumas from other parts of the arena. He also takes a special interest in the lightning section and wants to stick as close to it as possible to judge if it really occurs at noon and midnight, or at another specific time. Katniss isn't sure why it matters – venturing in will likely kill them regardless of the time of day or night.

All of a sudden, the silence is apparent and deafening. The water barely ripples; the air barely moves. Katniss' blood runs cold.

Simultaneously, the six of them turn on instinct to see Gloss, the male tribute from 1, holding Wiress up with an arm under her chin, her throat slit from ear to ear. With a sinister cock of his head, he releases her and she falls lifelessly to the ground.

It only takes a second to load her bow, but Cato holds out his arm and steps forward.

"Hello, Cato," Gloss says calmly, his voice distant and removed. Focusing his transparent eyes on the tribute in front of him, he continues, "I would have thought you'd be dead if not allied with us." He pauses, using the skin of his jumpsuit to clean the blood off his knife without tearing his eyes from Cato's. "But no matter – I can rectify that right now."

He lunges at Cato, who has been ready for him all along. They clash weapons, and she has only time to watch Cato raise his sword before clattering occurs behind her.

She spins with her bow in hand to see Johanna catching Cashmere in the chest with the blade of her axe.

But that's not all. Fangs protruding, Enobaria leaps from the top of the Cornucopia to land on an unsuspecting Haymitch, who drops to the ground with little more than a yelp. Katniss desperately hopes the crunching sound was not of his bones. The fanged tribute raises her dagger to plunge it into his back, but Finnick is there, using the blunt end of his trident to smack her – hard – in the face. Blood pours from her mouth as she rolls off of Haymitch.

At the sound of Cato's exertion, Katniss turns again. With Cato's back to her and the two in a heavy sparring match, she can't get in a good shot at Gloss. The platinum blond tribute is now exercising a spear to combat Cato's sword, a knife in his other hand that jabs at Cato's middle whenever he can chance it. Katniss tries to achieve a better angle on Gloss, but after Johanna takes a hit from Enobaria and crashes backward into Beetee, Katniss must change her course and keep the man from losing his balance.

She spins again, only to see a knife poised in Enobaria's hand. With focus strong and true, she takes aim at Katniss' head.

Finnick is too quick, and reaches out to catch it. He misses, but it's enough to derail the knife's course – and send the blade of the dagger slashing across his arm.

With only a second to breathe a sigh of relief, Katniss has her arrow nocked into position and lets it fly. Enobaria has already realized that she is fighting a losing battle, and takes a dive into the water. The arrow skims her back but misses her.

Before Katniss can make an attempt on Gloss again, the world begins to whirl. Not the world – just the island on which the Cornucopia rests. It's slow at first, but everyone freezes in their places, and as it speeds up, they begin to lose their balance. Katniss reaches for the Cornucopia and hangs onto the side, with Finnick just beside her, gritting his teeth fiercely at the immense effort it takes to hold himself in place while his arm is gushing blood.

Splashes occur – the dead bodies of Cashmere and Wiress tossed into the water. Bile rises in Katniss' throat.

Then, as unexpectedly as it began, the spinning stops. She's flung forward into the mouth of the Cornucopia and ends up on her hands and knees. Nausea overpowers every one of her senses, and though she is eager to take out Gloss, she remains where she is to gag.

"Katniss," Cato's deep voice echoes inside the walls of the golden horn, "are you hurt?"

Though she's surprised, she can't answer him until she rids herself of one more gag. Then, breathing heavily, she sits herself up on her knees and meets his eyes over her shoulder.

"Where's Gloss?"

Cato's cheeks are rosy from exertion, his chest rising and falling after the throes of a duel. "He dove off the island as soon as it started spinning. And I lost a knife throwing it after him." He grumbles a string of curses under his breath, furious at being down a weapon.

Her mind is revolving, so she takes a moment to hang her head and shut her eyes. When she finally feels okay to stand, she reaches out for the support of the wall and finds Cato's hand instead. He pulls her up and they walk outside.

The water is rough after the spinning, but Finnick is braving the waves to reel Beetee back in, who was flung off the island. Beetee catches his breath, chokes out some water, but still seems to be shell-shocked from the event. He reaches out and says, "Wire."

"She's gone," Johanna snaps rather harshly.

"Wire," he says again.

"Save us all," she mutters. "Volts is just as nuts as Nuts."

"No," Katniss says with a frown, understanding what Beetee needs. Without a second thought, she dives into the water despite Cato, Finnick, and Haymitch calling out for her. They can't figure out what she's doing at first. The waves are wild, but she dunks her head underwater and kicks her way to Wiress' body. Between the tribute's cold hands is a thin coil of wire. She retrieves the item and swims back to shore, handing it to Beetee, who is most pleased. He tucks it safely into his belt.

"Let's go," Cato says, just as Johanna blurts out, "We need to move on."

They glare at one another despite their agreement on the group's next course of action.

No words are uttered for a minute or more, for they are all gathering their breath, processing the last five minutes, and staring into the water where two tributes have just been laid to rest and loll amongst the waves in the eerie glow of morn.

Two more gone. The field grows ever smaller.

Katniss looks to Cato. Beseechingly, he is looking back.

* * *

As a group, they are unable to come to a consensus and argue over their next course of action. Do they hide, hunt, or wait? Do they rest for a few hours or get on the move? Do they pick a new section of the arena or go where they know when and what disaster will strike?

Finally, when everyone seems at their breaking point, they all surrender and mutually agree to carry on – for now. The remaining Careers could venture back to the Cornucopia for another sneak attack at any time. Haymitch leads the way, picking a random path and veering them off the beach and out of sight.

As they tread forward, Katniss thinks back to Enobaria leaping off of the Cornucopia. How long had she been waiting there? It's likely she overheard the entire explanation of the clock theory and maybe even got a peek at Cato's diagram in the sand. She's walking away with all that knowledge – all that advantage.

"It doesn't matter," Finnick assures her, though his voice wavers. He can't look her in the eye and instead focuses on tying a strip of his jumpsuit around the wound on his injured arm.

"It wasn't your fault," Beetee agrees quietly.

"Yeah," Johanna chimes in. "After all, Goliath over here was the one who asked you to explain it to him even though we'd already been through it. Almost like he wanted to give a gift to his old friends lurking by."

At this accusation, Cato's head snaps up, and Katniss clutches her bow to prepare for another strike. As if he can sense her tension beside him, Cato simply glares at Johanna, muttering, "I didn't know they were there."

"Hmm," is all Johanna offers in reply, and Katniss watches her exchange a sceptic's glance with Finnick.

Cato's fingers tighten on his swords, but he does not react.

Perhaps Cato _did_ know the Careers were nearby – perhaps he caught a glimpse of Enobaria's shadow on the golden horn or sensed a shift in the water. But he couldn't have planned it before separating from them, that's for sure. Almost none of the collective decisions made in the arena had been supported by Cato. In fact, he'd stood staunchly against every one of them…

Wasn't it possible that that was his plan all along? Knowing Katniss and her allies wouldn't trust him, and purposely disagreeing with them in order to lead them to the Cornucopia to a slaughter? Had he and Gloss truly been fighting, or was that simply a ruse to allow Enobaria and Cashmere to attack?

A great many perilous thoughts are tumbling across her mind when the tributes stop and decide to gather some food before venturing further into a potentially deadly jungle. Finnick offers to fetch the water, and as Katniss is the one with the spile, she goes along with him. Cato is right behind her, but she sends him back despite his glare. Only two are needed for this activity, and though it's a dangerous idea leaving him with Johanna, she'd rather be separated from him while she gathers her thoughts.

But if there are thoughts to gather at all, they are pushed to the wayside as soon as she and Finnick stumble upon the screams.

* * *

They have foolishly dared to cross into new territory, and to Katniss, it is the worst section yet. She chases the screams to a tropical tree, where a bird perches lazily on a branch and imitates her sister's agonizing pain in pitch-perfect manner. She sends it toppling to the ground and barely has time to retrieve her arrow from its rounded breast when more screams pierce the air. Finnick bolts.

She follows him until her legs are numb and her ankles are sure to twist and break, and even then, she's not fast enough. He circles another tree where more birds are perched, crying out a woman's name – _Annie_ – over and over. Katniss takes out the birds as fast as she can, but the screaming doesn't stop.

They're everywhere, these birds. Jabberjays. She's certain their sounds were ripped from the throats of their loved ones, and Finnick, drawing the same conclusion, urges her backwards, through the jungle, back to where they came from and out of this section of the clock. But it's hard – so gut-wrenchingly hard – to run away when Gale's tortured voice is begging for her to save him. What are they doing to him?!

Although the birds are physically harmless, the gamemakers mean to destroy them from the inside out. She and Finnick rocket through the jungle back to the others. They find them up ahead, beckoning them forward – and then they hit a wall.

They're trapped. This section of the arena closes until the hour is up.

The birds converge.

She's screaming with them, screaming for mercy, to leave her sister alone, to take their hands off Gale, to make it all go away.

There are too many to take out, so finally, spent, she crumples into a heap beside Finnick and covers her ears with her hands. Her hands aren't enough to drown out the sound, so she sings to herself:

_Deep in the meadow  
Under the willow_—

It's not enough. The others wait for them on the other side of the invisible wall. Beetee seems to be testing its strength and durability, Johanna is attempting to break its existence apart with her axe, Haymitch is banging fruitlessly. Cato is simply waiting. Watching.

Tears streaming from her eyes, she turns away and sings a song she hasn't sung in years:

_Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. _

She sings the four verses her father taught her over and over, repeating them so many times the words lose meaning.

And then, without warning, the hour is up. The wall rescinds in thin air and the birds cease their infernal shrieking. She is curled into a ball, rocking herself back and forth, until a pair of arms wrap around her and pull her back.

Haymitch. A wave of fresh tears rolls in and she locks her arms tightly around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Viewers in Panem must think her pregnancy hormones are off the charts, but she doesn't care. She'll never erase those screams from her nightmares as long as she lives, whether it be a day or a hundred years. She quakes in his arms as he pats her back and her head, muttering over and over that it all seemed so real, that the screams had to have come from somewhere.

When she is finally okay to let go, Beetee hands her water, which he has fetched with Johanna. Finnick sits silently by himself, his jaw set and his gaze removed. Whoever Annie is, she is someone he cannot bear to lose.

She sits with her back to the others by the shore, knowing that they can't understand her tumultuousness. The day is just beginning, really, as the sun climbs higher in the sky, but Katniss feels as though she's been awake for a long, long time. Her lower back is now positively _throbbing_ with pain, her shoulders carry the weight of the world, and her eyes are so very heavy. And the trembling – will she ever stop trembling? Not until she is reassured that Prim and Gale are safe, which may very well be never.

Someone plops down beside her just above the tide. Cato sits close enough that their shoulders are touching, and though she tries, she can't resist the urge to sneak a curious glance at him. His hardened expression does not betray him an inch, but she quickly learns that the reason their bodies are pressed tightly together is to conceal from the others what is in his hands.

He places something in her lap, wrapped carefully in a silver parachute. The strings can be pulled to reveal a bun and a small slab of chicken breast.

She covers the meal with the parachute and looks at him again. She doesn't need to ask – he knows what question is coming.

"Brutus sent a little bit of food while you were trapped in there," he mutters. Keeping a rigid jaw line, he adds, "I saved most of it for you."

"Most of it?" her voice cracks, still raw from all the weeping earlier. Suddenly, it alerts her that her eyes must be red and puffy to complement the peeling scabs on her skin. She looks away from Cato, pretending to be very interested in the meal.

"He also sent crackers." Cato lifts his belt to prove that they are still intact. "I'm saving those… in case we have to get away."

She licks her lips, reliving the past day in her head. The mixed signals are making her spin. He could so easily be a plant in their alliance, but something deep in her chest is screaming at her that, trained Career or not, Cato does not pretend. Not when it comes to things like this.

But there are always the cameras to think about, and anyone can be blinded by their light and distorted through their lenses.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, keeping her voice low. Distant chatter reaches them from up the beach, and she knows without looking back that none of the others are near. Still, one can never be too certain.

Cato exhales, a deep breath of pent-up impatience. "Have you really not figured it out by now?"

She shrugs, staring again at the fresh food in her lap. A growl rumbles in her stomach. "Sometimes I think I have, but then the doubt creeps in again."

As if they have a physical presence, she feels his eyes leave her face and stare into the calm lake. Then his head drops and he lets his hands dangle over bent knees. "I'll get you out alive," he mumbles. "Both of you."

Her hand flies instinctively to her belly. _Both of you_. Her and the baby. As if there's hope for them if they survive.

"It would be a lot easier if you would trust me," he adds, each word dripping with acrimony.

"I would be more trusting if you would stop losing your cool," she retorts. "You're out of control."

"_You're_ out of control," he counters childishly. "You need to rein in your bleeding heart and realize that if you keep saving everyone, they're eventually going to turn around and kill you."

She could go after him for that, but there's no use arguing. Instead, she returns to her previous point. "You need to try harder to keep yourself in check."

"I'm trying like hell," he bites back. "It's you who's not listening to my suggestions. I _know _this game. How it's played. Out of the two of us, I'm the one who's devoted years of my life to this—"

"And_ I'm _the one who nearly emerged as the sole victor," she interrupts him. As soon as it leaves her mouth, she's sorry she said it, for the coldness that settles between them is palpable. But it's true, isn't it? Call it luck or coincidence, but an undersized Seam girl defeated a trained Career.

Cato knows that, and his eyes gleam with malice. A remark like that could easily send her to her grave. There's enough distance between them and the other tributes that Cato could break her with his bare hands and dive into the water to escape before they even had a chance to look over.

But the malice that burns like fire amongst ice settles into an irritated scowl. Along with Cato, Katniss feels her tendons release their tension. He's not going to kill her – not yet.

"Won't it bring pride to your district?" she asks gently. Champion of the champions has got to mean something, especially in District 2, where Careers are born and bred. She recalls Cato's interview with Caesar in which he mentioned the shame that accompanies impregnating a girl before she's old enough to be free of the Games. It's taboo where he comes from. So she alters her angle, asking, "Or if they think you've saved me… is that what will restore your reputation? Glory only in death?"

It's obvious he doesn't like any of her questions, because he stares at his knees and declines to respond.

She watches him for a few moments. How he looks like his father when he's fuming! She'd never mention it aloud, knowing that Rufus is the person he strives not to be. Strives and fails… but only sometimes, when he lets his anger dictate his actions. Other times, in giving up his life to train for the Games and in volunteering a second time with the mindset that he would never return, he possesses higher qualities that his brute of a father will never quite reach.

In some ways, without any words at all, she suddenly feels that she understands him completely. Understands his internal dilemma – survival, death, glory, disrepute – that racks him every day and spans the realms of his society, his upbringing, his family, his personal standards and that awfully annoying niggling sensation that everyone has, hidden somewhere in his head or his gut or, dare she say it, his chest.

"I never let myself think about getting out alive," she admits, her voice hoarse. "It doesn't seem possible."

A small, cream-coloured shell with gold flecks is beside her, and she uses it to scrape layers of sand into a pile.

"But if I did—" she continues, all of her attention on the sand, "—if I was the one… I promise I'd find Caia."

Cato stiffens.

"I'd give her half my winnings. More, if she needed it. If… if she wanted to, she could even come live in 12. Prim would like her."

She's certain he's going to make another snide comment about her 'bleeding heart', but he stays silent. There are images of their two sisters dancing in her head – Prim could teach Caia how to milk her goat or how to treat a wound, and Caia, if she regained the use of her legs, could teach Prim to swim in that lake beyond the district borders. And the two of them, together, would lavish so much love on the baby. Love that Katniss would never be able to give.

She has no way of predicting his thoughts, so, in a voice soft as a breath, she asks timidly, "Do you think so?"

When she raises her chin, she nearly gasps to see his eyes back on her, fixated so powerfully they could burn holes in her head. With a slight furrow in his brow and a grimace at the corner of his mouth, he appears in pain. Not physical pain – no, it goes much deeper than that.

He never answers her question. Not in words, anyway. Instead, he brings a hand to her cheek and kisses her. It's softer this time, and she's taken back to that moment in her own district where they were asked to kiss for the cameras. He was gentle then, tender in front of an audience. The cameras are present now, but that annoying niggling voice is encouraging her to believe that this has nothing to do with that.

Both are afraid to question or to hesitate, because then they will have to face each other and themselves. So when she responds by moving her lips against his and does not bite back, he slides his hand to her neck and opens his mouth to her. With one palm flat on the ground to steady her, she brings her other hand across his torso and lets it rest on his waist. He shifts closer. Her tongue spars with his.

For someone with eyes cold as steel, his body radiates heat.

How long this goes on, she will never know. It could be minutes, but when they finally need to break for a breath, she swears it was just a fleeting moment. She lowers her gaze to his chin as she sucks in a breath. When she musters the courage to face his penetrating eyes, she finds that he is simply waiting for a reaction. Anything. It's her move.

"Did Brutus tell you to do that, too?"

Another cut that she instantly regrets, because it's a question she already knows the answer to – and even if she didn't, his expression says it all. His eyes, which had just begun to thaw after a long winter, freeze over immediately. The engaged couple releases each other and faces the lake, regaining their composure after a moment of… Katniss is not sure. Cleverness. Trickery. Or maybe stupidity. Honesty. An overwhelming rush of tension built up and then released like a dam.

If that's what it is, then the dam didn't drain completely. She grits her teeth at this irritating realization.

After a few still moments in which they mull over their own thoughts, Cato eventually gets up and leaves. Katniss, suddenly hyper-aware of the cameras, has no choice but to unwrap the parachute on her lap and munch on Cato's sponsor gift.

But she doesn't feel hungry anymore. Not really at all.

* * *

The tributes decide it's best to get some rest before moving on into another unknown section of the jungle. Finnick, who continues to fret over the jabberjays though the incident is long past, is asleep almost instantly, and Katniss is not far behind him. Though she hasn't spoken to him since sitting side-by-side on the shore and his feelings toward her could be nothing more than hatred, irritation, and a reluctant sense of responsibility, she feels safe with Cato on the watch. Haymitch claims he is not tired despite a yawn, and when he nods subtly to Johanna, Katniss suspects it is because no one trusts Cato to guard alone.

But she can't muster the energy to worry about the consequences, not when the sand is so deliciously inviting. Her eyes burn when they are shut, strained from the traumas of the night and day. It doesn't hinder her ability to sink into slumber – and she does, with one final, heavy-lidded glance at the backs of those who guard her life.

When she wakes, the sun has crossed the sky and now sits in the west. It must be late afternoon or early evening. How long have they let her sleep?

It surprises her to see an arm draped across her waist and a hand resting lightly on her stomach. Not because she questions to whom it belongs, but because she did not immediately find it unusual and upsetting. Cato is curled up with her, his steady breaths lightly fanning her bare shoulders.

Her surprise must resonate deep within her, because the baby reads her emotions – she's sure of it. How else would it know to deliver a kick at that exact moment? As it always does, her hand flies to her belly, hoping that the baby can feel it, can sense its warning, and will stop its attack on her from the inside.

But the baby is rebellious – something it must have picked up from her. Or maybe, she thinks with a flicker of panic, from Cato. How much would the baby resemble him, in appearance and in personality? Would its skin be the gritty olive of the Seam or the lighter tones of District 2? Would it act impulsively and anger in an instant, or would it be stubborn and standoffish? There is no telling, and she has never dared think of it before. But one thing she suddenly knows for certain is that it will fight to survive.

Just like her.

Or like Cato.

Or maybe like neither of them at all.

"I can feel it." His voice tickles her neck and she shivers. The baby kicks again, and he drinks in a sharp breath while dragging his hand across her stomach to meet the little feet.

Before she can stop herself, Katniss grabs his wrist and moves his palm over the action. Sure enough, another kick occurs.

She nearly smiles, but before she can muster the gesture, it doesn't seem so funny anymore. She releases her hold on his wrist and he pulls away. The afternoon sun is hot on her skin, but flush against her, Cato is scorching.

He realizes it, too – the intimacy of their position. In a flash, he's up, remarking to Beetee that he'll be back in a moment to take over as guard. Then he disappears into the jungle.

Avoiding the eyes of the others, Katniss is up, too. She's saved from their imploring glances by a parachute that lands only a few feet away. Eagerly, Finnick scrambles toward it and reveals a number of rolls. He counts them over and over, and Katniss frowns, assured that there are twenty-four of them. Why is he so paranoid about the exact number?

"Looks like bread from 3," Finnick remarks, glancing at Beetee for approval. Beetee nods.

Satisfied, Finnick's eyes settle on Haymitch. Haymitch looks at Beetee. Beetee fingers the wire in his belt and continues to nod.

Katniss watches the exchange with raised brows. Something fishy just happened, and she's now certain that something is hidden from her. Beetee, Haymitch, and Finnick all seem to have a secret understanding.

And where is Johanna? Something tells her she would be a part of this subset alliance, too.

Right on cue, there comes a yelp from the woods. Johanna's voice calls for Finnick. And then for Haymitch. That's enough to set them all off at a sprint.

The clanking of metal alerts them to Johanna's position, and they find her locked in a vicious duel with Cato – she with her axe, he with his sword.

"What's going on?" Haymitch demands.

"He's against us!" Johanna cries, deflecting his sword with her axe. She charges at him, but he's too quick; too strong.

But not strong enough for Finnick and Haymitch, who each grab one of his arms and pull him away. Johanna approaches him with her axe, but Haymitch holds up a hand to relax her.

Breathless, she goes on, "He goes off by himself to get sponsor gifts. His mentor is sending him secret gifts! With notes, too. He ripped it up before I could read it. He's plotting against us!"

She's nearly shrieking with rage, but Cato, though he glowers, does not step up to defend himself. The proof lies in the dirt: a silver parachute and a meal for one.

With a twinge of guilt, Katniss is sure that he was in the midst of dividing the spoils in his belt and saving some for her.

"What did the note say?" Finnick asks, grinding his teeth in an effort to keep Cato still though he struggles against him.

Cato does not reply. Katniss is willing to bet that Brutus was encouraging him to get away again.

"What did the note say?" Finnick repeats.

"Answer," Haymitch urges the blond. "If you don't, we have to conclude you're against us."

With one final struggle against his captors, Cato declines to speak.

"That's it," Johanna mutters, raising her axe and aiming for his chest.

"Wait!" Katniss cries.

The others turn around. Cato's eyes flash angrily. They all seem to have forgotten that she's witnessed everything, too. And they seem to have forgotten to ask her opinion.

If they had, she might not have an arrow nestled in her bow, ready to strike Johanna clean through the eye.

"Katniss," Haymitch says calmly. "Put it down."

She disobeys, raising her chin. "Then let him go."

"Katniss, he's not on your side," Finnick says. "He's a Career. A Career fights for himself."

"Let him go," she repeats evenly.

"He'll kill you," Finnick tells her, his sea green eyes boring into hers in a most unsettling manner.

But she remembers the way Finnick had looked at Haymitch, and Haymitch had looked at Beetee, and the three of them just seemed to _know_ something without elaborating at all.

She keeps the arrow aimed at Johanna until both Finnick and Haymitch release Cato from their grip. Cato shakes them off and, cursing under his breath, walks to join her.

Behind him, Finnick must think her blind. He stealthily grabs his trident and is about to attack when Katniss redirects her aim. The arrow pierces his shoulder, and he howls.

That sets off Johanna, but Katniss and Cato are already running. Not toward the beach, but further into the jungle. She has the spile in her belt and her weapons, and he has his swords. This choice she's made may be right or horribly wrong, but she can't turn back now. Everything else must be left behind.

They do not look at each other. They do not speak or ask questions. They simply run.

* * *

They run and run, through and through the jungle, and it's only when her sides begin to split and send sharp, jabbing pains into her chest that she's forced to stop. Hanging onto a tree branch for support, she keels over, gasping for air. Her lungs are going to burst. This pain is too real. Whether it's her pregnancy or the disturbances of the arena catching up to her, she can't find her breath.

What has she done? Oh, what has she done? Abandoning Haymitch, siding with Cato… they would have killed him back there. Now they're going to want to kill her, too.

Cato places a hand on her back, and she shakes her head fervently. "I can't," she says between shallow breaths. "I can't go on."

"You'll have to," he says, retrieving the spile from her belt while she doubles over, defenceless. "Can't stay in the middle of the jungle."

He taps into the tree and has a trickle of water running from the spile within a minute, and he motions for Katniss to have a drink. She does, though her heart thrums madly in her chest, and after a few more gulps of lukewarm water, she feels herself begin to settle.

Running is out of the question for the time being. A cramp is prominent in Katniss' side, but Cato gets her walking again. She cradles her waist in pain, hating her body, hating her baby, hating anything and everything that has made her this weak.

They walk on in silence through the jungle, more vigilant than ever. All the tributes in the arena are targeting them now. Katniss hasn't heard so much as a peep from Chaff – he could be anywhere. So could the Careers – Gloss and Enobaria.

She tries to keep her mind occupied, but other than the stabbing sensations in her side, the only thoughts she has are images of Johanna raising her axe over Cato's exposed chest. Would they have turned around and killed her, too? They were planning something with Haymitch; she's sure of it… but Haymitch would never hurt her. Every fibre of her being screams to her that it's the truth. He was suspicious of Cato – they all were – and wanted him taken out as soon as possible. She could have let them carry on. She could have let him die before things inevitably got worse.

But the thought of standing idly by as he was murdered in front of her eyes, his seed in her belly and his sister watching at home, was always going to be too much to allow. She should have known that from the beginning.

Those images continue to surface, so she begins to hum a tune as she walks, hoping it will distract her. It doesn't – not quite.

But it distracts Cato. His gunmetal eyes flicker with impatience when they have to stop for a break, but he stops with her all the same and waits until she is ready to move on.

As she rests, she notes with minor interest that the trees are different here. Spooky, almost, as they curl over, their branches like grasping fingers. Some appear to have gaping holes in them; charred remains of what once was. Their leaves are sparser and their bark is darker. Further, she can't recall any signs of wildlife in view in the past hour or so. The entire area seems burnt out, void of life.

While she removes her boots to massage her swollen, sore ankles, he asks, "What were you singing before? When you were with the jabberjays?"

She lifts her chin. "What?"

"Your lips were moving," he remarks, and she recalls his searing blue eyes watching her from behind the invisible wall before she curled into herself. "Finnick said you were singing. He tried to listen, too, but the screams were too loud."

She shrugs. Had Finnick told him this, or had Cato been the one to prompt him? She hadn't realized he had been watching her_ that_ intently.

"Just… a song. One my father used to sing."

"What's it called?"

Her eyes focus on his. Why should it matter?

"It's banned," she mutters, putting her boots back on. "Well, at least my mother told us so. Before my father died, she told us to never sing it again. I don't know why I sang it back there. I… it just came to mind. It was the only song that distracted me enough from their screams."

With his arms folded across his chest and swords dangling from his belt, Cato says, "Sing it."

She frowns, raising her chin to the leaves high on the trees and all around. _The cameras are everywhere_, she says through the gesture.

He shrugs. "Whatever you do now, it's not going to hurt Haymitch. Or any of the rest of them."

Certainly Cato doesn't care about Haymitch's fate, and even less about the others', but she realizes that he is appealing to her. To that 'bleeding heart' he claims she possesses. For a second – with just a brief glimpse in his direction – she wonders if he knows her. Knows her deeply, as few people do. Few people are given the chance, and though she can't remember giving one to him, she wonders if somehow he has found a loophole. A trained Career would fight his way in if he wanted to.

"It's banned," she whispers again.

His eyes do not stray from hers. "All the more reason to sing it."

She shakes her head. Cato rolls his eyes and sighs, but does not press her further. They must be moving on. It's unsafe to rest anywhere for too long.

The cramp still burns at her waist, and her ankles feel even worse now after removing her boots and massaging them. Her lower back is in so much pain that it's gone numb. On and on they march with no real destination, and her mind replays those frightful images, those terrifying screams…

Cato leads the way, cutting aside branches and leaves when necessary with his sword. She drops back a few feet, enough to sing quietly to herself.

_Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

Her voice is a notch above a whisper, but she delights in the lyrics rolling off her tongue. She remembers every word though she hasn't sung the song in years, and in some far-off place in the back of her mind, she still hears her father's sweet voice. The way he winked at her when they'd sing quietly behind her mother's back.

She shouldn't allow herself to indulge in such thoughts, but it's so much better than feeling every crunch of her heel and every stab shooting up her side that she can't be bothered to stop herself. And so she sings again, all four verses. Cato glances over his shoulder but says nothing, and she knows he is listening to every word. She knows, too, that the Capitol is having a field day. A song about two lovers committing suicide because death is the only place where they can walk free? After her stunt with the berries in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, this will certainly be considered an act of rebellion.

But what can they do to her? She's made it clear that her mother forbade the song, and the one who taught it to her has long since passed. The only person the Capitol can punish is her, and she's already in the midst of that. Cato is right: all the more reason to sing.

Still, she pauses for a moment, just to see what will happen. The jungle suddenly seems very quiet. She noticed the lack of vegetation and wildlife beforehand, but this is different – it's almost as if the air no longer moves. Like everything, from the leaves on the trees to the berries on the bushes, stands still as a statue, bating its breath for what comes next.

With a slight frown, Cato checks for her over his shoulder again. "Why did you stop?" he asks.

She never gets the chance to respond. From nowhere, a ball of flame careens through the jungle and lands in the dirt several yards away. The flame dies, but the dirt is charred.

Cato stops. Katniss stops behind him. A slow realization sinks in as he turns to face her, and his expression matches hers: this is it. Another section of the clock.

He opens his mouth just as another flame whizzes by, crashing into the trunk of a tree. The tree is left with a circular-like scar, as if it's been burned away – and the wound matches so many others in this part of the jungle. If this tree tells a story of the massacre the flames bring, then they had better—

"Run!" Cato cries, and they take off just as another ball hits the ground. And then another. And another. They're coming faster now, flung from nowhere, crashing into the jungle with force. They fall ahead, behind, on either side – they're unavoidable.

She discovers it soon enough, when a fireball hits her shin and knocks her to the ground. She's lucky that it only hit the side of her boot, but she feels the burn. Cato is quick to grab her wrist and pull her up, and then he links their hands so that they keep together.

"We have to make it to the lake again!" he says, leading them down the slope. He swerves to the side so quickly that Katniss has whiplash – better that than a third-degree burn.

Her side is _splitting_, and her heart pounds so fast that it's bound to explode from the confines of her chest. She heaves from her ribs and is certain that Cato is half-dragging her, because her legs are leaden and her ankles can barely support the rest of her body.

A fireball hits him in the shoulder, and he shouts in pain but keeps going. Keeps going, keeps going… doesn't even slow for a second. His sun-kissed skin turns a ferocious pink. Another flame soars through the air hell-bent on her, and she braces herself for the blow. Instead, her arm is nearly pulled from its socket as Cato tugs her forward, allowing her to just narrowly miss the hit. Wisps of the flame catch on her undershirt, but if they burn her, she is too filled with adrenaline or too broken-down from other wounds to experience any sensation at all.

The lake can't be far. The slope grows steeper, and Cato slides down, grabbing hold of a branch to steady himself instead of falling.

"I can't!" she cries, tears of pain welling in her eyes. Every breath is torture. "I can't run anymore!"

He yells at her to push through, to keep going. He would carry her if he could, but his shoulder is such an ugly red that she knows it's out of the question.

She's truly crying now, as her lungs seem to be empty and her chest is caving in. She can't do it, she can't. Her heart is hammering, her pulse skyrocketing. It's a thousand degrees and the air is thick, so thick to move through that every step is like crashing through walls. She stumbles more and more, openly sobbing, as Cato drags her on. Her vision is blurred, but she feels the impact as he's hit with another ball of fire. He curses loudly.

That's it. She can't go any longer. Pain seeps through every pore in her body and blankets every organ, every muscle. Soaked with sweat, she lets her hand slip from his and falls to the ground. Screaming at her to keep going, Cato tries to pull her to her feet, to drag her along the floor, but his arm is wounded and he can't bear to part with his swords.

With no effort on her part, he does manage to get her to stand again. She turns to see a fireball spinning on its path, aimed straight for her chest. This is the end.

Then she is thrown, knocked straight to the ground, and the blunt force of the fall sweeps whatever wind was left from her chest. She drowns in a sea of pain and heat.

Until she finds that, to her immense surprise, she is still breathing. Pained, ragged breaths, but they are breaths nonetheless. And the heat that envelops her is hissing in her ear, gasping to endure his own pain.

A minute passes, or maybe two, and when it comes to the point that she's sure she'll suffocate, Cato rolls off of her. He cries out as he falls onto his back and turns over immediately, wincing in agony.

The fireballs still fly, but somehow, the two wounded tributes are untouched. It's as if that invisible wall has risen again, and they just made it through the barrier.

Alive… but not without scars.

* * *

The beach is not far, so perhaps Katniss could have made it the final few hundred yards in the end. All she knows is that Cato needs to cool down his burning flesh in the water, and if he can drag his feet there, so can she.

He emits a low growl as he submerges his chest. She expected a howl, so she must congratulate him for that – his left shoulder looks absolutely awful, as does his right bicep. He's struggling so fiercely to manage his pain that a thin sheen of sweat coats his face.

Every part of her hurts, too, but she's lucky that her boot received the brunt of the fireball – and that Cato threw his body on top of hers at the bitter end. She'll have bruises in a few hours, but they're more welcome than the alternative.

"Effie," she says to the sky when she can no longer bear Cato's shallow gasps, "we need medicine for burns. Quick."

She knows this item exists and is available to tributes as gifts because Haymitch sent her a tin during last year's Games when a forest fired badly singed her leg. Giving Effie explicit instructions should get it here even faster.

But after a few minutes, it still hasn't come. She pleads again with no success. Why is Effie denying her? Have all her sponsor donations run out? It seems impossible, especially after the nation was in hysterics over her pregnancy and the star-crossed lovers act. In fact, she and Cato should have received plenty more sponsorship pledges after they abandoned the others together.

Then what's going on? The only answer that Katniss can derive is that perhaps Haymitch has asked Effie to put a block on all her gifts. Tributes can't do that, as it's a mentor's decision, but maybe they had a signal worked out before he entered the arena. And maybe he's not blocking the gifts from her – Haymitch wouldn't do that – maybe he's blocking gifts for Cato.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she turns to the only other resort she has.

"Brutus," she says, raising her voice to ensure that Cato's mentor hears every word. "We need the medicine. Badly. We need to move on, but he's too hurt."

As if Brutus was merely waiting for her to swallow her pride – or waiting for the opportunity to outshine Effie Trinket – a parachute falls almost instantly from the evening sky. She grumbles a thank-you and stands to meet the tin in the air.

Cato climbs out of the water to meet her, and they wait for his skin to dry before she applies the medicine. He's feverish and has the sweats. Touching the charred flesh on his arms is like placing her hand into a scalding oven. Relief washes over his face as soon as the ointment is applied, and she knows it must be the very same that Haymitch sent so long ago. After a few hours of sleep, he'll be nearly cured.

"Looks like my mentor still has a pool to dip from," he remarks as she applies one more coat onto his bicep. "Yours is fresh out. That must sting."

His age-old arrogance is back. With a roll of her eyes, she declines to comment.

Cato's smirk fades. He watches her as she works, intrigued.

"You really are unpredictable, Fire Girl," he says softly.

Grey eyes, like a misty morning in spring, rise to meet his. "You've done things I didn't expect either."

That's why Snow delights in the pair of them: neither one can understand the other. They're a perfect disaster.

"I'm learning with you, though," he says. "Getting better with my predictions."

"Yeah?" she asks, raising her eyebrows in a challenge.

"Yeah." With one last streak across his arm, she pops the lid back on the tin and hands it to him. He elaborates, "Whatever I want, you're going to push away. However I feel, you're going to feel the exact opposite. Wherever I go, you'll be convinced that the other direction is smarter."

She laughs, but has to argue, "That's not always true." After all, he wanted to leave the others, and she went with him, didn't she?

"No," he agrees. "Just a rough guideline for when I get stuck."

They leave it at that. Despite her bruised body, she leaves Cato on the beach and ventures not far into the jungle to tap into a tree. She returns with water and figures they'll have to hunt soon if Brutus and Effie are finished sending meals. For now, she's much too tired and much too sore.

She peels off her boots. There must be a way to soothe her ankles. She tries soaking them in the lake, but they're still as swollen and aching as ever. Her lower back is screaming for attention. At home in 12, Prim would give her a cup of hot water and lemon and her mother would heat up a pad and place it under her back. The thought of anything hot right now is unbearable.

Emptying her belt, she busies herself by reorganizing her few supplies. Daggers, rope, spile, fog medicine, Effie's ointment…

Effie's ointment. Perhaps that was why Effie never sent the medicine when Katniss had asked for it just minutes ago – she felt spurned after her last attempt to send a gift was chucked aside. But Katniss and the others had tried the lotion on their skin, and it burned so terribly they couldn't stand it.

It _burned_. Katniss thinks of this for a second. Heat. The lotion applied a great deal of heat to a specific area. Effie, though rather daft at times, would never have wasted sponsor donations on a gift she'd never have use for.

Katniss opens the small tin and dips her fingers in. Just as a tester, she uses her index and middle finger to spread a thin layer of the cream across her ankle.

She nearly gasps at the sensation – the results are instantaneous. The product seems to seep into her skin and leaves nothing on the surface, but beneath, it is as if her bones are injected with relief.

She tries again. And again, and again, still testing on just the one ankle in just the one spot. Eventually, when the skin has lost much of its redness and she can swear the swelling has gone down, the lotion stops seeping into her skin. It's saturated.

Whatever properties this cream contains, it's magical, and she wastes no more time experimenting. She takes a handful of the stuff and rubs it into her ankles, over and over until they feel a part of her body again. Then she starts on her lower back, lifting up her undershirt and massaging into her skin. Her teeth are firmly planted on her lower lip to keep herself from crying out in ecstasy.

"Effie, you're a saviour," she whispers, genuinely grateful for the first time that her mentor is female and worried about such trivial things as pregnancy aches in the face of death.

Cato seems to notice the effect the cream is having on her, and when she struggles to apply it to her neck and shoulders, he motions for her to sit in front of him and hand him the tin. Reluctantly, she agrees. His hands are rough from years of hard training and he's not altogether gentle with the application of the cream, but she doesn't care. It feels so good being massaged into her shoulders and the back of her neck that she drops her head and sighs, the tension in her shoulders easing almost instantly. Her thumb is between her teeth to prevent her from moaning with relief.

But she cannot forget that these are Cato's hands, and with every touch, she is reminded how strong he truly is. There was once a tribute from District 3 who had his neck snapped by Cato's bare hands because he failed to thwart Katniss' plan of blowing up their supplies. She flinches when she thinks of the cracking bones. Cato could snap hers, too, and she's giving him a clean angle.

"What?" he asks, feeling her shudder.

"Nothing," she answers quickly – too quickly.

He runs his hands over her shoulders and then lets them drop. When she turns to thank him, he avoids her gaze, as if he had read her thoughts and wished she'd been thinking of anything else.

"I'm going to wash off," is all he says. Then he heads for the water.

* * *

She wakes with a jolt, sitting against the trunk of a tree. Beside her, his own head tipped back against the trunk, Cato sleeps. Which one of them was supposed to be keeping watch? She can't remember. The night is dark, but rays of light are creeping in. They could have been asleep – and unguarded – for hours. Of course, they were both exhausted from yesterday's ordeals… still, what a foolish mistake.

And sleeping nearly out in the open! They're practically begging to be found and slaughtered.

Katniss gathers several nuts from the jungle and they feast quickly. Cato is eager to get moving, but he contributes some of the crackers he'd been saving in his belt. There's no telling which hour of the clock they are now in, which is unfortunate – but be it arrogance or ignorance, Cato is confident that they can defeat whatever tricks the gamemakers throw their way. The burning flesh on his arms is tender and pink, but it has healed miraculously in just a night. Under her breath, Katniss remarks that this seems to have given him a false sense of invincibility.

They begin their trek through the jungle with their weapons at the ready. With the last arena deaths, Cashmere and Wiress, occurring over twenty-four hours ago – was it really only yesterday? – the gamemakers will be looking to draw tributes into battle.

But first, another little trick.

They've only been walking for an hour or so when they begin to notice the jungle is changing yet again. Everything inside seems sopping wet, from the tree bark to the mud that clings to their boots.

"Maybe this is the lightning section," Cato suggests. "It's always raining here."

Katniss doesn't think so – they can't have circled the arena that quickly. She's confident that the lightning section is miles away.

But then why is there mud?

She doesn't have to wonder for long. As they continue their hike, she first notices that the mud is a bit sticky. It's more of a nuisance than a serious problem. After a while, maybe because it's tiring her out, she seems to have to lift her legs higher and higher to release her feet from the mud. Only when the mud reaches up to her knees does she begin to think that perhaps it grows thicker and thicker, and perhaps they are sinking.

"Should we go back?" she asks Cato once he has realized it, too.

"Or down," he suggests. "Toward the lake."

He changes his course and she follows suit, but it's a disaster from the start. Even going down the hill, they sink deeper into the mud, and though they stick close to tree trunks and branches for support, they frequently slip. They're breathing heavily once they're up to their hips in sludge. Putting one foot in front of the other is nearly impossible; the mud is so heavy and thick.

"What do we do?" she asks, fighting to keep her voice neutral. Inwardly, she's panicking.

Cato is momentarily at a loss, but he never goes down without a fight. "We need to get higher," he says. "Climb a tree until the hour passes."

Just as he finishes speaking, the mud begins to bubble. The temperature stays the same, but they exchange worried glances – bubbling mud can't be good.

If Katniss thought that being submerged in muck up to her waist was problematic, then she changes her mind as soon as the earth seems to recede under her feet.

Wide-eyed, Cato shouts at her to move, to follow him as fast as she can. But it's difficult work, swimming through mud as thick as molasses, and it seems as though they're traveling about ten feet per minute and expending all their energy.

But there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Up ahead, maybe a hundred yards or less, is a clearing that leads to the beach. There, they'll be safe.

They struggle and trudge and wade through muck, and though Katniss tries to stay afloat, at times even her neck and ears are submerged. And her legs are so tired – so heavy. Her feet aren't even touching ground anymore; they're simply floating in sludge.

She's panicking. Death is one thing – death by sword or knife or arrow, she can face. Being trapped in a pool of muck is another. Slowly sinking, deprived of air, knowing what is coming but simply waiting, waiting…

Cato reaches the edge, but it seems that they're in a hole, and he can't lift his arms above the mud without sinking. It seems impossible to pull himself out – but treading in the muck, which grows ever deeper, for the rest of the hour is out of the question. They'll tire in minutes and drown. Every time Katniss stops flailing, she begins to sink.

He doesn't give up, though he curses loudly and begins to search around for other solutions in as much a panic as she.

He finds one – at least, he thinks he does. Not far from them, there is a branch hanging low to the muck. Exerting himself, Cato struggles over to the tree and tries to reach the branch. Over and over, he tries to propel himself enough in the mud to jump out and grab it – but it's too high and the mud is too dense. He yells in frustration.

"I need a vine!" he cries, searching frantically. Of course there are none in the muck.

But it gives her an idea…

She submerges one arm in the mud and uses the other to keep herself afloat. Reaching into her belt, she fishes around and hopes she's not losing anything along the way. She nearly sinks, but before her nose goes under, she pulls herself back up and shows him the rope, now covered in mud.

He holds out his arm, prepared to catch it. She throws. Once it's in his hands, Cato makes quick work of the rope, uncoiling it and only sinking under the surface once. Then he wipes his eyes of muck and, with a final burst of energy, takes aim at the branch.

The rope loops around and he knots it securely. He tells her to swim over – once he pulls himself out, he'll be able to haul her out if she has a hold of the rope. It's agonizing to swim to the rope with every muscle in her body screaming in pain. She hopes Cato has more energy in reserve than her, for he's going to have to do all the work.

Using the branch as leverage, Cato tangles himself in the rope and, grunting, hauls himself out of the mud. He balances his feet on the tree trunk and climbs, and after a couple of tries is able to swing himself onto the branch. Without wasting any time, he unties himself and throws the rope to Katniss. She's sinking – fast. She grabs a hold of it and tries to strap it around herself while he begins to pull. The rope burns against her and hugs her too tightly, but she doesn't care. Only a few more feet. Cato is cursing to himself as he works.

Before she knows what's happening, she falls straight back into the pool. This time, she goes under, and in a frenzy she pulls herself to the surface, gasping for air. When she looks for him, Cato is out of the tree. He's now on the hard-packed earth, covered head-to-toe in mud with his swords at the ready. Gloss and Enobaria stand in front of him.

The Careers! They must have heard their panicked shouting and decided to pay their rivals a visit.

Thrashing in the muck, Katniss searches for the rope again, thinking she can pull herself up alone if she has to. But it's gone – it' still knotted around the tree, but it's sliced just a few inches below. Enobaria must have thrown the blade of her knife clean through it.

"Cato!" she cries for help, though there's nothing he can do. He's locked in battle with not one, but two of his own – a deadly situation at best.

Cato is swift, precise, strong, and lethal, just as any Career is trained to be. In that, he and his opponents are perfectly matched. But while Cato can keep an even, frigid expression through just about anything, there is one thing the others can do that he cannot: never has he been able to control his anger. When it bubbles, it explodes in a volcanic eruption of epic proportions.

And that may just work to his advantage.

Cato does not like to relinquish control to anyone – he's made that very clear in the past few days. He also does not like his plans to be hindered, and Katniss has a million examples in recent memory. The time she knocked out two of his allies with a tracker jacker nest and then got away. The time she blew up his supplies at the Cornucopia. The time Clove was supposed to kill her and failed, only to be killed instead. The time Snow instructed him to impregnate her – the hole in the wall.

He is a walking grenade, and all anyone has to do is pull the pin and wait for him to set off.

Enobaria and Gloss have not only pulled the pin. They've loaded the cannon and set off fireworks to top it off.

With a scream of rage, he's hopped to the ground, brandishing his swords and advancing on the hungry Careers. He doesn't waste time assessing the situation or strategizing the duel. Instead, he takes advantage of the fact that they expect a pause from him – and barrels toward them with no concern for precision, for technique, or for self-preservation.

Katniss doesn't know if he's successful. The mud is sucking her under, and no matter how desperately she claws, she cannot stay above. Before she sinks, she catches a glimpse of Gloss tumbling into the mud, so surprised by Cato's outburst that his balance fails him in the collision.

That's all she knows, because the mud swallows her hole. Her last gasp for breath is a plea that this will not be it; this is not the way she goes. She is resigned to death in the arena, but not like this. Not in a pool of sludge. It is as if the Capitol wishes for everyone to remember who and what she is: Katniss Everdeen, born as dirt, died as dirt.

That alone infuriates her so much that she kicks and paws with one last bout of enthusiasm, but she is trapped below the surface, and she will never rise again. She can't hold her breath forever – soon, she'll have to accept the sludge into her windpipes, and then it will all be over. Over. No matter where she was born or how she died, it will all be over.

Her lungs are expanding in her chest. Void of oxygen, her limbs relax, too starved to go on. And just as she's about to take that final breath of the underground, something locks around her arm. She startles. Something's got her – it's Gloss.

She's pulled up, up, and then it's not her arm that's held, but her waist. Tugged and tugged through layers of thick mud until it's done. Until she rises again.

The first gasp of air is immensely painful, not at all helped by the fact that mud seeps into her mouth and chokes her. Between sucking in air and expelling the mud, she's not sure how she survives the next few breaths. Somehow, she does.

It's not Gloss who grabbed her – she should have known the instant she inhaled for the first time. It's Cato. With one arm locked around her waist, he possesses the strength of ten men as he fights his way through the mud and pulls her to the edge. He lets go of her only to pull himself up and onto the hard ground, and before she can sink again, he grabs a hold of her arms and does almost all the work of hauling her up.

Katniss lies in a heap on the ground, barely able to breathe, and Cato looms over her, panting heavily.

"We can't stay here," he wheezes. From the squishy feel beneath her fingers, Katniss registers that they are still in the mud – nowhere near as deep as before, but mud nonetheless. "Can you – Katniss? Are you with me? Katniss!"

She can't muster a nod, but she can blink in response, especially when he begins to shake her shoulders. He starts to wipe the mud off of her face, from her arms, her legs, her back. When she has enough room to breathe, he gathers her weapons for her – or what remains of them – and lifts her off the ground.

A cannon booms.

Cato treks slowly down the slope, careful of slipping and sliding in the mud, and brings her to the beach. She registers where they are and is prepared to be placed in the sand, but he doesn't stop. He keeps going, his jaw rigid, his arms tight around her, and wades right into the lake to wash them off.

Her last coherent thought is a pleasant one. It is the knowledge that if she dies, she dies cleansed.

* * *

"You could have let me go back there," Katniss says to Cato later that day. She had stirred out of unconsciousness and woken to a fresh loaf of bread and two apples to split between the two of them, compliments of Effie Trinket. Mud is caked between her fingernails, in her ears, and in the roots of her hair.

While they ate, Cato explained to her that he'd pushed Gloss into the muck and Gloss had never come up. The cannon had been for him. In his blind rage, he'd gotten in a good slash at Enobaria, but it was probably a fairly shallow flesh wound across her thigh from which she could easily recover. Without Gloss, she lost her confidence and took off. That was when Cato dove back into the mud to retrieve Katniss.

With his back against a tree, Cato rolls his eyes. "I told you – you're not dying in here," he mutters.

She's not sure about that. She feels awfully weak. And slow, like she's still travelling through miles of mud.

"Well, Gloss is gone now," she says, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of bread. "Unless there have been any other cannons today, that leaves eight of us. You, me, Haymitch, Beetee, Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, and Enobaria. It could go any way at this point, but what if it comes down to just the two of us? What then?"

Lazily, Cato turns his head to her. "Then I'll ask you to make it quick. I've heard you have a pretty clean shot… most of the time."

She narrows her gaze at his smugness. "_All_ the time."

"Good," he replies. "I'd prefer not to writhe in agony while you reload for a better shot."

He's infuriating. She comes up with another argument – a legitimate one. "What if I don't want to tell the baby that I killed its father?"

Even from several feet away, she sees him freeze, his muscles tensing under his skin. He remains calm, but she spots the flicker of pain behind his frosty eyes. "You had good reason to. But if you want, you can lie. I won't be around to correct you."

She shakes her head, annoyed because she knows he has not said what was truly running through his mind.

"I don't want to kill you," she says quietly, and it's the first time she's admitted it to herself, verbally or otherwise.

Cool even in discussing his own untimely end, Cato's eyes attach to hers, entrapping her completely and begging her to never look away. With a gulp, he says darkly, "Then let's hope somebody else does."

* * *

After another sleep, Katniss feels stronger – but not strong enough. She uses Effie's ointment on her ankles and shoulders again, but she is simply tired and worn down. Pregnancy is debilitating, which is certainly what Snow intended.

The baby kicks, as if to remind Katniss it's still there. She doubles over, hushing it though it doesn't make a sound.

Cato watches her. He always watches her. He must be exhausted, too, but his expression never changes; never betrays him for anything less than strong, fierce, and collected. Still, Katniss is willing to bet that he hasn't slept more than a few hours the entire time they've been in the arena, and it must be wearing him thin.

They both know that this has to end soon. They have to _make_ it end.

"What now?" Katniss asks after they've gone for one last cleansing swim and gathered their supplies.

"Now…" Cato trails off, gazing into the distant jungle. "We hunt."

It sickens her, the idea of hunting for humans, but to Cato, it's what he was born to do. She'll never understand how he can so easily abandon that part of his humanity.

They head down the beach and enter the jungle past the mud section. The sun is setting, but Cato thinks they can use the darkness to their advantage. Katniss wants to go back the way they came – it only makes sense, as they know what dangers they'll be facing. But Cato wants to forge ahead, especially because he saw Enobaria take off in this direction.

For once, he wins the argument, and Katniss follows him through the jungle, bitter and terrified of seeing those pearly fangs glinting at her in the dark.

Not even an hour into their journey, it rains. It begins as a few drops here and there and quickly turns into a steady stream. Katniss is glad for the rain at first – it certainly cools her down and relieves the jungle of some of its humidity. But then, after Cato leaps through the air and knocks her to the ground just before she's about to step into a snare, she realizes that the rain may be limiting her visibility.

"It's one of Finnick's," Cato says, examining the camouflaged trap with careful fingers. Katniss isn't sure she would have been able to look out for it, even without the darkness and the rain. "I don't even know what kind of knot that is."

"He must be close by if he's setting snares," Katniss remarks, placing a hand on her belt to ensure her daggers are still there. It seems that she and Cato aren't the only ones on the hunt.

Cato nods in agreement. "And I bet he's not alone. Come on – if we move fast, we can catch them tonight."

There's a knot in her stomach, and it makes her ill. "I can't kill Finnick," she tells him, lowering her voice in case anyone is near. "Or Beetee. And definitely not Haymitch."

His scowl is unmistakeably harsh. "Fine," he snaps. "I'll do it myself. Though I might ask for an arrow or two… and Finnick might only go down with a couple of horse tranquilizers."

She sets off after him in the woods, dreading what could happen when they meet their former allies. "You would do that?" she asks. "Kill them without remorse after… everything?"

"They tried to kill me."

It's true – they did. There is certainly no love lost between Cato and Finnick or Johanna. He's hated Haymitch from the very start. And Beetee… well, he's an easy kill.

It's all just numbers to Cato. She took down her fair share of tributes during the seventy-fourth Games, but so did he. She remembers every face, every last breath… but she wonders if he remembers any at all.

"Doesn't it haunt you? The hunt… your prey?"

Though not amused, a short laugh escapes his throat. "You tell me. You're as much a hunter as I am."

"It's not the same with animals. I never went searching for people. They just… came to me."

He stops in his tracks and turns to her, so close she can feel his breath fan her cheek. "You have to get out of here," he says, his voice deep and rumbling. "And I can't be the kind of guy who sits around and waits for things to come to me. If I want something, I make it happen. That's it. Okay?"

Stunned by his reaction, she can simply nod.

As he turns to move on, he mumbles under his breath. Katniss is not intended to hear them, but she hears anyway: "Whatever black marks are on my conscience are about to erased along with the rest of me."

The rain picks up. Her teeth begin to chatter and every few minutes she has to wring out her hair. But she does not make a sound. If there's one she knows, it's how to traverse the woods in silence. As a hunter, Cato knows, too, and they slip along like shadows between the trees.

Cato hears them before she does, and he stops ahead of her and holds out his arm to catch her before she walks by. Concealed by foliage, they watch as Haymitch and Finnick pass them, looking worse for wear but still trekking at a decent pace. It would be opportune to nock her arrows and shoot them from behind as they head up the hill, but she can't do it. And no matter how intent he is to end their lives, she's grateful that Cato will spare her from having to watch.

"They're up there," Cato says, speaking only a notch above a whisper. "I'm going. You go down the slope and hide near the lake. I'll find you."

"Wait," she counters. She frowns. "Cato, there could be four of them up there."

"So?"

His bravery is almost admirable… at least, it would be if it weren't foolishness. Four tributes against one is never favourable for the latter, not even if he's a Career.

In response to her reluctance, he groans and says, "Give me one of your bows and a sheath. If I can take down Finnick from afar, then I know I can handle the other three."

She's not sure about Johanna with her brutal axe, but she hands over one of her bows. Cato slings it over his shoulder.

"I can't just _hide_."

"Yes, you can," he insists. "Go. Don't be a part of this."

She argues again, but his mind is made, and his eyes are blazing, radiating heat rather than frost. She backs down only because it scares her, those eyes. Their smoulder is something she hasn't seen before.

Four against one. Even if things go according to his plan, it's still a long shot.

"Listen," he says, penetrating her eyes with his unflinching, burning stare. "You never, for one second, take your hands off the bow. You shoot first, ask questions later. Whatever you have to live with after this… it has to be better than not living at all."

She nods, her chest constricting. Cato looks down and touches her mockingjay pin before he leaves, straightening it on her shirt.

"Don't you forget why that's your token, Fire Girl."

And then he's gone, slinking close to the trees and racing away like no rain or darkness can stop him.

* * *

Katniss makes her decision before she even reaches the lake. She can't leave him to battle four opponents on his own. She reasons that she cannot bear to let someone make such a sacrifice for her, not even if Cato thinks he owes her his life. Because even if that were true, he's given it to her a hundred times over. He risked himself time and time again just to get her through one more day, even in times when she'd given up.

At the heart of the matter, Katniss knows it has nothing to do with debts or sacrifice. There is something about the boy with the frigid blue eyes. He calls to a part of her she never knew existed; elicits tremors deep within her chest without even speaking at all. And though it seems brash and silly, she can't let him go.

But she may not have a choice.

She's halfway back to where she began, climbing the hill and struggling to regulate her breathing, when a voice cuts through the pouring rain.

"Where's your fiancé, Girl on Fire?"

Katniss' head snaps up in an instant to see Johanna in front of her, a smirk of satisfaction on her face. They thought all four of them – Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Finnick – were at the top. Cato thinks he'll find Johanna up there, when really…

She was waiting here all along.

Katniss shakes her arm to unsling her bow, but Johanna lets out a sharp cry and points her axe at her.

"I don't think so," she says, shaking her head and taking a step forward. "It was pretty stupid of you to run away from us, Katniss. You should know that."

Johanna drops her axe, much to Katniss' surprise, but then she lunges. Before Katniss can react, she's thrown backward to the ground, and the two of them slide a few feet down the hill in the mud. Johanna digs her feet into the ground to stop them from moving and straddles Katniss, looming threateningly over her.

"Someday," she continues, fishing a knife out of her belt, "I hope I get the chance to explain to you _why_."

Lightning flashes, illuminating the glistening silver of the blade. It's the last thing Katniss sees before it's brought down on her arm.

Johanna stabs and cuts in her upper arm. The pain is so excruciating that Katniss screams. She thrashes against Johanna, but she's too small and too disadvantaged to gain the upper hand. So she calls Cato's name, knowing he is nowhere near, knowing that he believes her to be by the lake in hiding.

The axe-wielding tribute from District 7 abandons her, and when a cannon sounds, Katniss assumes it to be hers. But of course it's not – she can still feel the rain pounding, hear the thunder booming, and her arm is throbbing, gushing blood, screaming at her for attention. She is painfully aware that she still lives.

But then who was the cannon for? If Johanna had known she'd find her here, then did Haymitch and Finnick know that Cato would be coming? Was the cannon for one of them, or was it for him?

Katniss can barely see, but she staggers to a standing position and calls out for him again. She's not asking to be saved – rather, she's screaming his name as a warning, to alert him that the others may be prepared. She wants to draw him back.

She's trudging blindly, hardly able to see five feet ahead, using trees as support for standing. Blood is draining from her arm. What did Johanna _do_? Why not simply decapitate her with the axe or slit her throat with the knife? Is she so furious over Katniss and Cato jumping ship on the alliance that she would have her slowly bleed to death as punishment?  
There's a crashing through the jungle up ahead. Katniss prepares for the worst, especially when Finnick comes sprinting past her. He's probably here to finish the job. But if he's here, still breathing, then where is Cato? Fear seizes her heart – it's true, then. The cannon was for him.

In a flash, Finnick races past her. He's so quick that he leaves her head spinning, and in her delirious state of mind, it takes her a minute to figure out that he is gone. Though she made no effort to conceal herself, he paid no attention to her at all.

Lightning strikes again, followed by the roaring thunder. Just as she's about to lean her full weight on a tree trunk and sink slowly into death, she hears her name above the heavy drumming of the rain.

"Katniss! _Katniss_!"

It's him. Cato. He's alive.

She bites down on her lip to mask the pain in her arm and takes a step forward, toward the sound. Just one more step, just one more step. That's all she has to keep telling herself to make it.

"Katniss!"

"Cato!" she shouts in response.

He barrels through the vines and trees, finally spotting her in the darkness. "What happened?" he cries as he gets closer.

She's near tears and can't find the words to explain. He doesn't ask for any. With rain dripping off the soaking strands of hair plastered to his forehead, he drops his sword only for a second to remove his shirt. He fashions it into a tourniquet around her arm, though it's too drenched to absorb anything.

"Who did this to you?" he demands to know, bending to her eye level so that she can see the gravity of his expression.

There's no time to respond. Over the deep thunder and the pattering rain, there's the sound of cracking twigs and snapping vines.

Someone is coming.

"Go!" Cato shouts, placing his hand on her back and directing her upward. Where they're headed doesn't matter – they just have to get away.

Dashing through the jungle, heart pounding in her ears, raindrops like bullets on her back, each step a step closer to death…

When lightning strikes again, she catches a glimpse of Beetee up ahead. He's on his stomach, dragging himself across the jungle floor. They are headed right toward him. Ahead of her, Cato fishes a knife from his pocket and prepares for the kill.

A hand claws at her from behind. Sharp nails like fangs scratching her back, desperate to get a hold. Though Katniss is running with everything she has, she is no match for the violent and feral Enobaria.

She drops to the ground when the tribute springs at her, hitting the floor with a _thud_. Katniss yelps and bites her lip in pain – Enobaria was not gentle.

Cato turns before throwing the knife at Beetee to see Enobaria grabbing Katniss by the hair, yanking her up and pulling her to a standing position with a knife to her throat. With Enobaria using Katniss' body as a shield, there's no way for Cato to take her out without killing Katniss, as well.

Didn't Cato take her bow? It's not on him now. It's the only thing that might have saved her if Enobaria was struck in the right place, but now…

"Do it," she says, looking straight at Cato. Never has she seen so many conflicting emotions in him at once – confusion, fury, helplessness. They've spoken of her death before, and even as early as the tribute parade, he'd known what she wanted.

She wants him to be the one to kill her.

"Please," she pleads with him, choked by Enobaria's arm. Droplets of rain land on her eyelids and blur her vision.

It would be mercy – truly, it would.

Behind Cato, Beetee continues his slow, tortured crawl through the mud. There is a knife in his back, but she sees what he's headed for – the discarded bow and arrow. Cato has to kill her now so that he can take out Enobaria and then get to Beetee before it's too late.

And the wire. With another strike of lightning, she sees the wire extending from a tree branch and down through the jungle. Beetee's rigged something!

"If you don't do it, I will," Enobaria chimes in, cutting ever so slightly into the skin on her neck. A drop of blood drips down her throat.

"_Please_, Cato," Katniss repeats, her eyes watering. "You can end it. Someone has to go home to Caia."

"Prove your loyalty to your district," Enobaria taunts him.

Gulping, Cato raises his sword. With Enobaria snickering in her ear, Katniss squeezes her eyes shut. He'll make it quick. She knows that much, but still she can't watch.

The blow never comes. Instead, she's simply dropped, collapsing in a heap on the ground. She hisses in pain but raises her head to examine the surroundings – what happened?

Enobaria is on the ground, too, the back of her head seeping blood. Finnick blazes past, trident in hand, and races to Beetee without any further assistance to them. Though he passed her blindly on his way down the slope mere minutes ago, he's returned and saved her life by knocking Enobaria over the head.

Despite the fact that he spared her, Cato is shooting after Finnick as he flies by. And as Katniss tries to re-orient herself, she realizes that Enobaria is still conscious, and she is still intent to finish what she started. Though her eyes are murky, she lifts her head off the ground and spots her knife only feet away. She crawls toward it just as Katniss pulls her bow from her back – only to find that it's snapped from the fall, useless. Then what does she have? Her one good hand makes quick work of digging in her belt only to find nothing left. Everything gone.

With a fanged smile, Enobaria is creeping toward her. She is truly horrific, with teeth sharpened and gleaming, scraggly hair dripping blood, eyes narrowed and black.

Katniss is defenceless.

Defenceless, but not alone. Because it isn't just Enobaria anymore – Cato returns, striking her before she can deliver the final blow. He shouts in pain, and Enobaria brings her knife out of his thigh, the blade stained crimson.

Before anything else can happen, the sky falls apart. Lightning flares once more and the flash never fades. The entire arena is lit and sparks drizzle down, like burning little flames that will set them all on fire.

The raining embers are the last things Katniss see before it all explodes around her.


End file.
